Like Us But On Horse Back
by theplanetmary
Summary: .'I guess Kansans don't walk in the sun.' Within the first twenty four hours in the Nevada desert Dean's fighting for his life against dehabilitating heat stroke, Sam's dehydrated and sun burned and the Impala needs a whole new fuel line. PreAHBL
1. Fifty Miles Out

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscaroara and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

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Like Us, But On Horse Back**

**"Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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Chapter One: Fifty Miles Out**

**"Fifty miles to go and runnin' low on faith and gasoline, it's been a long hard year…"**

**- Carrie Underwood**

**………**

_Black Star Motel; Elko, Nevada_

Dean Winchester ran a hand over his face, viciously scrubbing at his skin, as if trying to wipe away the world, drown it out. He sighed thickly and glanced again at his brother lying among thrashed sheets. Sam gave a few violent shivers but stayed asleep. He looked like hell, but Dean was sure he looked worse. He grit his teeth and glared back at the lab top screen. It blinked at him but did nothing to ease his anxiety or deeply buried anger. Sleep was still beyond him. He hadn't slept a full night since John had traded his life and the Colt away. Neither had Sam, though his were more driven by the premonitions and nightmares that racked the young brother.

But Dean's sleeping habits had been corrupted, he was slowing down, getting bleary eyed and sloppy. Sleep deprivation was a torture that Dean Winchester was submitting himself into willingly. He couldn't power through it like he normally did with any kind of problem, so in desperation to "control" his situation he resorted to forcing himself to stay awake. Coffee, cold showers, he'd even resorted to alcohol and drugs, using false credit cards and prescriptions to fill pill bottles with capsules of caffeine, cytamine and dulled methamphetamines. He'd even called Missouri in desperation for a few occult remedies. The physic had harassed him, snarling and spitting like a wildcat at him for his behavior. Hanging up Dean had done his own homework, started slipping small amounts of feverfew, yucca and boneset herbs into his coffee and continued to ignore most calls from Missouri to harass him into stopping his personal torture.

Dean was somewhat thankful that the woman had not told Sam about what he was doing and was slightly enraged that his brother was so blind as to not notice what Dean was doing to himself.

He'd also started taking antidepressants. Dean was actually waiting for the day that he accidentally over dosed. He looked almost balefully down at the hot black coffee, he could smell the boneset in it and the brandy poured in to mask that. Dean sighed and dug into his jeans pocket and slipped out a slightly dented slip of silver metal.

The casing from one of the Colt's bullets. The only bullet that Dean had fired from the Colt, to save Sam's life and take the life of the yellow eyed Demon's son. He'd picked it up, kept it for himself like a trophy. A souvenir. He turned it over in his fingers, tracing the etchings in the side of the silver. A minute pentagram and runic symbols and the clear number three. Dean carefully set the shell casing down on its end, balancing it on the metal of the table among the stacks of scattered papers and books and the laptop. He sat back and stared at it in the dim light for a few long minuets before sitting back up and reaching for it. The shell tipped over and lay on its side.

Dean froze, almost instinctively. He hadn't bumped the table and his fingers were still inches from the shell. The shell had tipped itself over for no reason. Dean swallowed, his eyes trained on the silver shell.

It gave a slight twitch then started to roll, Dean's eyes narrowed as the shell rolled across the table top, across the papers then off the table top. Dean traced it as it rolled to a stop in the center of a pile of newspapers. Dean watched it, waiting, hand resting on the hunting knife sheathed at his hip. He rose slowly and walked the short distance to the papers and knelt down. The shell twitched as he lifted it, examining the metal, then his eyes went to the paper that it had stopped on top of an article. Dean lifted the slip of paper into clearer light. He read the title then scanned the article.

_**"Animal Deaths Results of Predator and Prairie Fires" **_

_The Bureau of Land Management of Nevada State is continuing their research and investigation results in several prairie and woodland fires as well as a sudden boom in bobcat, puma and wolf populations in the north east territory of the state. Though rain fall has actually increased in the last few months there have been nearly seven range blazes, all lasting at least five days and at least covering forty miles square before they are effected by any effort to stop the blaze. _

'_The loss of graze range is making it hard to keep the cattle fit and fed,' says rancher Molly Riener in the Elko region, 'But it's not the head that we're worried about, it's the mustangs.'_

_Nevada State is known for its wild ranges of the last great herds of mustangs and feral equines. The fires are centered and destroying the federal protective ranges of these herds and leaving blackened earth were it was once traditional graze for many of these protected herds, herds that are hundreds of years old. The lack of food and the fires themselves are killing off the weak and healthy animals._

'_After a blaze we went out to count how many we lost, but for every cow of ours that was out there must have been three mustang ponies burned down to their bones, worse than any of the cattle,' Reiner continued, 'It's like something is targeting our herds.'_

_The worst damage recorded is near the small town of Tuscarora in Elko county, population two hundred and forty, the traditional territory of three BLM registered herds, one unregistered and the home base of the Nevada's Nokota Mustang effort. _

'_The fires and the predator boom are driving our herds into the canyons and scrub deserts, they're dying in the fires, and teeth of pumas and into the heat of the sun,' reported Elijah Greer, rancher and territory patrol of the Nokota and BLM registered herds. 'The mustangs, buffalo, pronghorn, elk and deer. All our hoofed animals are suffering, including our cattle. They can't find a place to rest, drink or eat. Those that are still loyal to the territory are practically robbing out domestics of their grain and pasture and drinking the water from our troughs while other herds have tried to move on, only to be trapped in unprotected lands and shot down by desperate ranches. Something has to be done to save these animals before we loose them, we've already lost nine Nokotas as is.'_

_The BLM members and volunteers in Tuscarora are doing everything they can to protect their mustangs and horses, including the mayor authorizing out of season hunting of mountain lion, bobcat, wolves and coyote and having a type of border patrol set up to track and trail mustang herds, keep an eye out for fires and scare off predators. _

_Greer assured us that the situation is not so desperate and drastic yet. 'Our dogs and local kids and their ponies have been our biggest assets on our little crusade. They get out of school saddle up and hit the trail like none other. They think its great getting permission to chase coyotes and bobcats and they're protecting a big part of their home town history, the dogs think the same thing, we've had less mutilations since the patrols have been authorized but the fires keep getting closer, we're real worried, hell we had a couple of bears come down from the mountains recently.' _

_Though he explained that there is a plan in progress of development if there is a need to relocate the herd for their own safety and preservation._

_Celia Northwind, the main coordinator and organizer of the Tuscarora Nokota, feral horse and wildlife preservation efforts, as well as the captain of the herd patrol units and cattle rancher was unavailable for comment. _

'_She's out there right now, taking numbers on the ponies and buffalo that have started hanging around the river valley. If anyone was going to take control of this effort it was her, she spends more time with horses than she does people' Greer explained._

_If you wish to donate time or funds to the BLM of Nevada, The Tuscarora Nokota Mustang Preservation Organization or The Blackbird Feral Horse and Burro Preservation Organization of Tuscarora you can contact their offices at:_**(775) 555. 3247 or (775) 555.3298;** _you can e-mail _**cnorthwind (a) nevadamustang . org**_ for more information at the following websites:_

**www . blm . org**

**www . tuscaroaramustangs . org**

**www . tuscaroaranokotahorse . org**

Dean reread the article twice, the third time he spent making a few short notes in the journal that he had started to record his own encounters with the paranormal and supernatural. He glanced at the screen where he'd pulled up all three websites, and opened his e-mail account with the typed address ready in the prompt, though it remained blank.

He only took interest in the story at first because of the behavior of the shell, then because of the content and finally because he had a slight nagging feeling, recalling stories from other Hunters about deceased poachers and hunters that continued to slaughter the same animals they'd hunted in life. Buffalo Bill Cody was legended to have single handedly put the American Bison on the endangered species list and a Hunter Dean met assured the boy that the reason the buffalo couldn't return to their numbers was because old Bill and his personal hunting party still crashed around the Midwestern plains slaughtering the animals at every chance. Dean glared at the shell from time to time as he immersed himself into a frenzy of research at every angle. Even researching almost viciously to understand exactly what a 'Nokota' was. He could imagine the bit of silver was smirking at him, teasing him.

The more and more that Dean researched into the fires, predator booms and the destruction of the wild horses the more and more he began to believe that this was their sort of thing. But no matter where he looked he couldn't seem to find a photograph of 'Celia Northwind', though there was one or two of Elijah Greer on the main websites.

The e-mail page continued to remain blank as Dean's over taxed mind started to spin theories and options of what could be behind it. He figured best a spirit, maybe a frontier's man or a hunter like Buffalo Bill Cody that saw the mustangs as pests and trying to continue it's personal attempt to rid the plains of it.

"Dean?'

He almost jumped at the rasp in Sam's voice, he twisted away from the gallery of photos of the fire scorched territories.

"What's going on Dean, what are you doing?" Sam grumbled, pushing himself up and shivering slightly. For being a desert Nevada was cold in the nighttime hours.

"I think I found a job." Dean said shortly.

Sam perked up. "Have an idea what it is? Spirit, demon, poltergeist?"

"Horses." Dean muttered. Sam did a double take.

"What?"

Dean handed the original article to his brother and continued to read a long amendment bill that had been passed in congress a few years before authorizing the BLM to sell mustangs into slaughter markets for food overseas.

"It does sound kind of odd, especially if rain has actually increased, do you think it's the Demon?" Sam asked, setting the article back onto the piles of research. Dean froze.

That hadn't eve crossed his mind as an option, hell he was getting slow. The fires were a sign of temperature flux and though the cattle mutilations had become horses, they were still animal disembowelments.

"That wasn't my first idea but it seems to fit." Dean snapped quietly, more at himself than Sam.

"Yeah except look, this is a week old." Sam pointed to the publish date. "If it was the demon it would have already acted."

Dean immediately pulled up the information that he'd been researching, including a follow up article and the local papers of Tuscarora, Nevada.

"No, nothing about a fire, either in the land or in a home, but three more Nokotas are dead." Dean found himself almost growling.

"Nokotas? Whats a Nokota?" Sam scoffed sitting down on top of a stack of newspapers in the only other chair.

"Nokota is a subspecies of feral horse, they were originally developed in North Dakota, they're a completely different genetic make up compared to the North American Mustang. They're pretty rare, barely five hundred individuals left and three hundred of those are in the Nokota Mustang Conservatory in North Dakota, another hundred and fifty are privately owned and the last fifty are a part of Northwind's preservation efforts. They've lost fifteen of those. She's got to be pissed as hell about that." Dean rattled off the facts almost unknowingly, pulling up a comparative photograph of a Nokota horse standing next to a North American mustang and twisted the laptop around to let Sam see it. The Nokota was significantly smaller than the mustang, it was darker in color, a flecked blue roan with black mane, tail and points, as well a dorsal stripe and stripe markings on the legs. The mustang had been a pale gold color and handsome too, but the Nokota had gotten his attention.

The particular Nokota and mustang were from Northwind's herds in Tuscarora and Dean had been flipping back to the photo every few minuets.

Sam looked that the photo, clearly unimpressed with the horse.

"You looked all this up?"

Dean only nodded and grunted in response.

"Why?...did you a find a picture of this Northwind chick? Is she hot enough to learn this stuff?" Sam teased.

"I couldn't find one of her." Dean muttered, both absently and annoyed at his little brother's response. Sam smirked, not believing him for a second.

"So you want to head up to Tuscarora and see what's going on?" Sam sniffed, flipping through several of the pages that Dean had printed out. "I mean it could still be the Demon, maybe it just didn't act yet."

"Then it's off it's cycle of timing. I think it might be something else. And if it's not we head west towards Las Vegas, plenty of bastards to hunt there." Dean looked at the blank e-mail message again, deciding to shut it off and just surprise Northwind, that at least would give him an edge.

He saved all the links and information to a file marked simply 'MUSTANG'.

"Fine by me, lets leave in the morning." Sam sighed, stretched, like an over large languid cat and collapsed back into his bed. He hugged his pillow into his chest and dozed or pretended to doze.

Dean shook his head. He turned back to the blank screen, tensed up, then pulled up another e-mail, logging in and typing out the e-mail address again. He took a deep breath and quickly typed out a simple message.

_Hey, _

_I read the article in the Elko Street Edition and I did a little research and I was hoping that you could send me a little more information on the situation in Tuscarora. The article said to contact you for more information. Thanks. _

_Dean W._

He stared at it, feeling stupid for a second before clicking the send. He sat back, looked around at the silver shell casing and snorted. The shell seemed to be laughing at him. He nearly lashed out to crush the shell when the computer hummed and beeped loudly. Dean jumped, looked around at Sam who had only flinched slightly but said and did nothing. Assuring Dean that his brother was asleep.

Startled Dean turned back to the computer screen.

The new message was blinking in blue, clearly marked with the sender Celia Northwind;**_ cnorthwind (a) nevadamustang . org_.**

Slightly startled Dean opened the new message and read through it.

_Hello Dean W._

_Nice timing, I was just getting up to start the day. I'm always glad to send out more information to anyone who asks, just the fact that you're up this late and taking the time to try and learn more means that the cause is starting to get noticed. _

_I've attached two files, one for North American Mustangs and feral Burros and one for Nakota Mustangs._

_I hope you find them helpful and have the information that you were looking for. If you wanted anything more feel free to contact me anytime and I will get back to you as soon as possible. _

_Thanks for your interest,_

_Celia Northwind_

Dean reread the note a few times, and he actually found himself smiling. He liked the way she sounded through her writing. Light hearted but to business. He saved the two files to his 'MUSTANG' folder and found himself writing back.

_Celia Northwind_

_Wow, that was quick. The article made you sound incredibly busy. I thought it would be a few days before I heard back. Thanks for the files, I haven't read them yet but I'm sure they'll be perfect. I am really interested in helping as much as I can to figure out what is going on in your town and territory. My brother, too. _

_Just getting up? It's four thirty in the morning, seems pretty early to me especially with the schedule that I imagine you have._

_Thanks again. _

_Dean W._

He hesitated, almost typing out 'Winchester' but refrained, the last thing he wanted was to blow the horn on his own name, being doubly the wanted convict now avoiding his real name was a good idea. Especially over the internet. He hit send and sat back, almost nervously waiting for a reply. He refused to look at the shell. Dean drummed his fingers. He was rewarded in a few minuets. Dean excitedly rushed to open the new e-mail. He felt foolish for getting excited but didn't try and stifle the feeling.

_Dean W. _

_I am incredibly busy you just caught me at the right time. I have a lot to deal with and getting up early in the morning helps make sure that I can get it all done in one day. What about you? If you're a normal human being you should be asleep right about now yourself. _

_I appreciate your time and interest, as well as your brother's. The feral life need as much support and interest as possible. Especially after the Burn's Amendment a few years back._

_Celia N._

Dean smiled at the signature, she'd matched hers to his. He hit reply and rushed to start typing.

_Celia N._

_I read about the Burn's Amendment in my research, I was a little upset that something like that was passed by our government._

_My brother and I are college students, we are used to late and early hours. We're professional insomniacs. What keeps you up?_

_Do you have any idea what might be causing the fires or the predator boom? And what exactly are you and your organization trying to do to stop it? I read about the controlled hunting and patrols, but have they worked?_

_Dean W._

Dean sent the message and waited, sipping his coffee and nervously bouncing his knee up and down. He almost jumped when his reply came.

_Dean W. _

_It is upsetting that a man who has no understanding or experience with the mustangs wants to use them for food, a cancellation amendment is in the works by Nevada's own senators and representatives. _

_Students, good to hear that you're continuing you education. I understand why you spend your nights awake now. And wish I had the same opportunity. What keeps me up? Hell the paperwork and fund balancing, organizing our volunteers and keeping numbers in check. Plus living and working a ranch it's hard trying to make ends meat around here. It can definitely keep a body up at night worrying about her littler sister and big brother and making sure the damn herds are safe getting up first thing in the morning. Much less thinking about what's out there posing a threat. It's the natural life of a rancher and hunter. I suppose being a student you're more from a city area, probably don't strain so much worrying about predators. _

_I do have a few theories as to what is causing the fires, each less sensible than the last. But the predator boom is harder to explain away, it's against nature for a depletion of prey to trigger a predator boom, when one struggles the other does. _

_Our patrols are consisted of groups of two or three men and women on horseback walking the range borders, taking notes and numbers on any mustangs and other wildlife they see and report in every hour. It's become easier to track the populations and take notes as where animals are struggling. The predators steered clear for a while, rifle shots over their heads made them think twice, but they've gotten bolder and we have been authorized to shoot to kill if necessary. Unfortunately the fires are a different matter and we can hardly control them only make sure that we have enough warning to drive our mustangs out of danger. They're slow working methods but still 'working'._

_Again, I appreciate your interest Dean, but I do have to get to that busy schedule. If you would like to contact me feel free to call my cell later today or leave me an e-mail and I will return it as soon as possible._

_Celia N._

_775. 555. 7669_

Dean felt his heart fall that she was not going to contact him again that morning, his well masked depression creeping up on him. But his nerves were peaked by what she had written. That she didn't have a chance to continue her education, she was barely making ends meat and was looking out for a younger sister and older brother.

And she'd written 'what's out there posing a threat', the natural life of a hunter.

Dean suddenly couldn't wait until later in the day to give the woman a call and find out if she knew more than she seemed. Dean grit his teeth, saved a contact with her name and the phone number into his cell and set an alarm to go off at ten to call her.

He hoped to make an appointment to go in and talk to her face to face. He saved a transcript of the conversation and shut the computer down, sluggishly shuffling over to his bed and slumping down into the comforter. But he stayed awake, running countless scenarios through his mind. Behind his eyes he swore he could hear the sounds of crackling fires and his heartbeat in his ears, the pulsing of his blood sounded like hoof beats and gun shots.

**…**

Shaking himself and sitting up slowly Dean realized he must have been dreaming, fallen asleep. His sheets and clothes were sweat soaked and rumpled in his unconscious thrashing. It must not have been so severe, he hadn't woken up for it and neither had Sam. Much less he didn't remember anything from the night before after he'd shut down the laptop. It was a strange feeling, when had sleep become so foreign. He growled and rummaged into the pile of clothes dumped on the end of the bed and slipped out a prescription bottle. Dean snarled at himself before throwing back two horse pills of methamphetamines. He quickly slipped the bottle back out of sight when Sam stirred. Dean felt the drugs rush into his veins but the reaction was duller than it had been only weeks ago.

He was becoming immune.

The older brother yanked on a pair of semi-clean jeans, ripped off the sweat soaked tee shirt and replaced it with a clean red one. He quickly threw the clothes into their packs, scrambling to assemble the stacks of newspapers, ripping the original article out and stuffing it into the opened page of his forgotten journal.

Sam groaned and rolled over, still oblivious to the world and the nearly frantic gathering of his brother. Dean slipped the lap top into Sam's case and dumped the unwanted newspapers into a recycling box near the trash can. He had to admit that Nevada was an eco-aware state. There were laws about recycling.

Dean made a quick once over of the room, making sure they had everything. He snatched the hunting knife from under his pillow and slid it home into his boot.

"Sam, up an at 'em sunshine." Dean ordered, gently shoving his brother a few times in the side. Sam groaned and dug deeper into the pillow.

"Sammy."

"Alright, I'm up…what the hell for?" Sam muttered, cracking one eye into the sunlight, annoying pain bubbling in his mind before shutting his eye again.

"We got a fifty mile drive to Tuscarora." Dean grumbled, throwing clean clothes as his brother.

Sam snorted, "Fifty miles? Fifty, you're in a rush like this for fifty miles?"

"Just get up." Dean snapped and slipped out of the room towards the office to check out and pay off the motel. Fraud, charming smile and all.

He was walking back across the parking lot when his phone leaped to life, beeping loudly. Dean actually jumped sideways in surprise.

"Spooked horse." One of the office workers muttered as he walked by to start cleaning a room. Dean glared at the staff member and pulled out his phone. He was struck suddenly by excitement and nervousness.

It was the alarm, ten in the morning .

Time to call Celia Northwind.

Nervously he pulled up the programmed number and steadied himself. He always got fired up when he was going after a lead and practically interrogating someone, even if it was over the phone and it seemed more like a causal conversation to the unsuspecting.

He pushed send and held the phone to his ear.

One ring…two…three…four…

Dean felt his heart starting to sink at the sixth and waited for the machine to pick up.

"_Red's phone_." A decisive answer said in his ear.

Dean's chest tightened and he almost choked on his rush to answer. Even if the voice was male and the name female.

"Yeah, this is Dean Wilson, I was hoping to find Celia Northwind. I wanted to talk about the mustangs." Dean made himself sound innocent, letting some of his nervousness seep into his confidence, women ate that sort of thing up, some men too, made them feel dominate.

"_Wilson? Well Mr. Wilson y'all have to call back a little later. Ol' Red's in the middle of somethin' on the range right now and cain't talk just yet. All she's got is her radio."_ The male returned, he grunted between a few words as if he was busy working on something more important than talking to someone on the phone. Dean was now familiar with the south western accent of Nevada and didn't even bother to make fun of it in his head.

"May I ask who I'm speaking to?"

_"Elijah Greer, Mr. Wilson…Imogene! Get movin'! Sorry 'bout that."_

"You're daughter?" Dean asked playfully.

_"My little sister, Mr, Wilson."_

"Well, thanks, I will call back a little later." Dean suddenly felt the regret that he hadn't caught Northwind, or 'Red' as she was evidently called.

She must have red hair, Dean thought to himself.

_"Sure thing, I'll leave her a note and radio her that ya called."_

"You're not going to see her later?" Dean knew he was prying now, but Elijah Greer seemed more than willing to talk to him, his photos and entries on the websites and in the articles confirmed that much. He assumed that Greer and Northwind were involved with each other and the idea that he wasn't going to see her again that day, as early as it was gave him the idea that the romance was on the rocks.

_"No sir, the family's headin' out of town for a bit and we're leavin' it to Red."_

"You're related?" Dean asked, restraining his surprise.

_"Red was adopted into my family 'bout twenty years ago, she's my sister sir."_ Dean had a feeling that the young man was distracted and not really paying attention to what he was saying.

"Oh, well I'm sorry to have bothered you." Dean tried to sound apologetic.

_"No problem, I'll let her know ya called."_

"Thanks."

_"My pleasure Mr. Wilson, have a good day."_ Before Dean could get further the other end of the line clicked off. Dean snapped his phone shut, looking at it for a while.

So Elijah was the older brother and Imogene the younger sister that Northwind had mentioned in the e-mails.

Middle child was hard enough without being adopted into it. At least from Dean understood from the lives of the few middle children he knew.

Dean's interest was perked and his mind buzzing, but he pushed it aside, very aware that it was possible that Sam was still asleep. He jogged back into the rented room and growled at the still sleeping Sam.

"Sam!" Dean barked, making the younger brother jump and grunt into his pillow in surprise.

**…**

Sam snorted and rolling his head back and slumping into the shotgun seat a little lower.

"Fifty miles, of all things." He muttered, watching the rolling landscape crawl by. He had to admit that fifty miles of flat Nevada stretch seemed long than just fifty miles. But it was still a fraction of what Sam and Dean were used to traversing in a day.

"Quit grumbling Sam." Dean snapped, overly irritable. He wasn't feeling well, like his skin was too tight or too loose. He glanced at a road marker. They were still on State Highway 226 diverging slowly onto State Highway 789. They'd already crossed between the Independence Mountain range and the Humboldt National Forest; and the Tuscarora Mountains were rising not far off in the south west.

"I'm just saying you sure are in a hurry to get to a town where there doesn't seem to be anything going on except some environmental issues." Sam snarked back.

Dean grit his teeth and glared across at his brother. "Sam we sure as hell are quick to follow your hunches, and I was a Hunter on my own for two years after you left." The sore spot that he was aiming for made Sam flinch but Dean couldn't have cared less. "So can you just handle sitting shotgun while I follow one of my instincts, alright?" His voice was clipped and snapped like a too tight rubber band.

Sam swallowed dryly but killed any grumbling or argument.

"Alright, sorry."

Dean only snorted and looked out of the driver's side window briefly at the short grassed desert prairie that was northern Nevada's main terrain, the red rock mountains growing slowly larger in the south. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye and looked harder. Not far off the edge of a road just ahead a large dog was walking towards the pavement.

It struck Dean as strange, they had probably passed a total of ten cars since hitting the highway, all of them either a truck or a jeep. And no animals at all, a dog just wandering around the side of the highway made him look.

_That's not a dog,_ he thought suddenly, it looked like one of those jackals he saw on the nature shows about Africa savannas. But those things weren't native to North America. Come on, what was it…

"Coyote." He muttered low under his breath; Sam didn't catch it or the satisfaction that rang in his tone at having thought of the name without help.

He grinned, and then faltered.

The animal seemed to have heard him. It's head flew up and ears thrown forward, it stopped moving and glared around at him. Dean's brow furrowed as he locked eyes with the animal. It cocked its head to the side, the dark brown eyes flashing suddenly black, then iridescent white. The coyote's head turned so it could continue to stare at him as the Impala passed it on the highway, Dean found himself straining to keep eye contact. In the last second the coyote's eyes actually narrowed and it grinned, smiled at him like some kind of Cheshire cat, lips drawn back over black teeth instead of white.

"The hell?" Dean muttered startled, blinking and whipping around to try and look for the animal in the review. It wasn't reflecting back in the mirror.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean shook himself, looking at his brother.

"Nothing." He muttered, it could have been one of the many little illusions that he was suffering from his continued lack of sleep.

Sam shrugged and sighed, "Whatever."

"How much further?" Dean asked.

"Four miles or so at this up coming crossroads." Sam muttered, checking the map.

"No problem. Smooth sailing." Dean sighed, cock sure attitude breaking through.

The Impala lurched, throwing Sam and Dean forward. Sam smashed stomach first into the dash and Dean into the wheel. They both snarled in surprise. Dean pressing down on the breaks and steering towards the shoulder. The engine wailed as if in mortal pain before all sound ceased from the Impala and the engine died all together. The Impala rolled, slowing until it stopped. Settling in the gravel and dirt shoulder of the northern corner of the crossroads.

Sam groaned, sitting back and rubbing his sore stomach.

Dean slammed a fist into the steering wheel, barking a few colorful curses as he threw the muscle car into park and practically kicking the door open. All thoughts of the black toothed coyote fleeing from his mind.

"Sammy, you okay?" He asked sharply.

"Yeah," he groaned, rubbing his head, "what happened?"

"I'm going to find the hell out!' Dean snarled popping the hood, climbing out, slammed the driver's door shut and yanking up the hood. He wasn't met with a wall of oily smoke or damp steam, only cold air. It was as if the engine hadn't even been running for the last few hours. He reached forward and carefully tapped his fingers across the manifold. Then he pressed his palm down into the metal.

Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and walked around, flinching slightly from the bruising and pain in his abdomen.

"Dean!" He barked in surprise at his hand on the long running engine.

"It's ice fucking cold Sam!" Dean snarled back, his temper flaring easily from his self inflicted insomnia and the idea that his Impala was acting up without obvious cause.

Sam cocked his head at him and reached out to touch the manifold. His shivered, the metal was so cold it bit at his hands, stinging. He quickly drew his hand back and rubbed it on his jeans, trying to get some of the warmth back. Dean braced his hands on the front end lip, handing his head forward.

"Weird…can you fix it?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dean twisted around on his much taller brother with narrowed eyes and practically bared teeth.

**…**

Sam leaned back against the fender, he rubbed a hand across his fore head and shielded his eyes against the sun. He heard Dean grunt and snarl from around the front of the engine. Both Winchesters had abandoned their flannels and jackets in the Nevada heat, even if it was early fall it was still drastically hot under the sun and on the pavement. Sam stretched his legs out in front of him on the pavement, it had been nearly three and a half hours now and their nerves were wearing thin. Sam knew for a fact that Dean was starting to get to a point to gutting the entire engine out of frustration and it didn't help that the engine stayed ice cold.

"Coolant leak or something." Dean snapped, refusing any other explanation of what could be happening to his baby..

So Sam reserved himself to sitting by, helping when he was shouted at and looking out for any help that was obviously not coming down any of the four roads. It didn't help that neither of their cells had any signal on this stretch of highway.

"Hows it coming?" Sam asked glancing sideways and up at his brother.

Dean only snarled curses and s few 'shut up college boy's and a clanging of metal on metal.

Sam snorted a little under his breath, it was kind of funny in a way, would have been funnier if they both weren't dehydrated. And that situation was starting to get severe. Sam knew he was sweating too much, god knew how much Dean was.

Sam glanced around and down the road, sighing again. He started, squinting to make out a shape in the heat twisted air above the pavement.

He stood up suddenly.

"Hey Dean.

"What!?" Dean barked.

"I think someone's coming."

Dean glanced up and stretched around to look passed his car, brother and down the pavement. He squinted, glancing down all four stretches.

"I don't see anything." Dean snapped and turned back to the engine. Sam glanced around at Dean and cocked and eyebrow before turning back to the road far out a head of him, the one traveling north. He was sure something was coming up the highway. He waited a few minuets before he was sure then stepped out in the middle of the highway and waved his arms over his head. The only thing he had seen since the Impala shuddered to a stop was a large crow drifting over them. The bird had looked down at Sam, seemed to cock it's head and croak loudly before suddenly turning on wing and flying swiftly back the way it came due north, Sam had only briefly wondered at it's sudden and drastic change in course, but he quickly forgot about it as no other form of life showed up to supplement the memory. Other than that they may have well been on Mars for the lack of life or traffic.

Dean glared at his brother's back for a minuet before snarling a few insults and curses.

Sam smiled as the shadow seemed to pick up speed. He braced his hands on his hips and sighed in the heat.

His smile faded into a frown.

"They're on horseback." He called to Dean. Dean only grunted.

"Two horses, they're leading one." Sam called again, shielding his eyes against the glare. He waved and the rider waved back. It looked like they were trotting, maybe galloping towards the stranded brothers. They weren't to far off and getting closer. Dean could hear the sound of hooves connecting with the pavement, getting louder in a hurry.

"Great Sam, what is some freaking native cowboy on a couple of stupid horses going to do for us?" Dean spat.

"Ya'd be surprised, son."

**

* * *

Hope ya'll like. It'll defiantely get better from here on.**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	2. More Than One Kind of Rodeo

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Two: More Than One Kind of Rodeo**

"**Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction."**

**-Cowboy Wisdom**

**…………**

_Crow's Point Crossroads, four miles outside of Tuscarora, Nevada;_

Dean froze, the voice was collected, calm and sounded like something crossed between gold honey and rattle snake venom, almost playful and wary at the same time. And distinctly female.

Dean felt a shiver go down his spine and warning bells flare in his mind, something about that voice was very familiar.

He jerked around and looked up into the smiling face of a young woman. She cocked her head at him and lifted an eyebrow. Dean drank in her form, she was definitely the type of girl that if he met her in a bar his first move would be buying her a drink and talking her up, his last promising to giver her a call as he left her room the next morning and of course never did.

A lithe, dancer like frame, she was small or seemed small astride the horse. Her hair hung loose under a brown Stetson cowboy hat, it was a deep brown red, almost burgundy and cropped to her shoulders. Her skin was darkened, tanned with an ethnic background of some sort and not just the sun. She wore a white tee shirt and a red plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, both stuck to her frame with sweat, a pair of faded jeans with a flare over heavy army like boots snug in the stirrups of an aged, western leather saddle. A silver chain hung around her neck, looped through a simple silver crucifix. A wide belt of brown leather sported a black plastic walkie-talkie, and a sheathed hunting knife, large with a carved bone hilt from what Dean could tell. Strapped to her saddle was a rifle holster, with none other than a classic custom Winchester long barreled rifle. But the most striking thing about the woman was her eyes. Dean found himself drowning in them, and feeling of fear flooding into his belly mixed with the primal excitement that he always felt when he faced a woman, half of him wanted to grab a gun and the other half wanted to flash his trademark smile, sweet talk her right off of her horse.

Her eyes were the color of fresh pooled blood, dark red, redder than her hair. He swallowed dryly.

Dean had to admit that she looked striking sitting tall in the dark colored saddle, her hand causally wrapped in a set of long reins looped into a somewhat ornate bit in the leather bridle, the bridle and a breast collar strapped across the horse's chest matched the saddle in dark color and stood off against the animal's fur impressively.

The horse was tall as far as Dean was concerned, a proud head and sharp eyes and long legs with neat feet. A buckskin, it looked like ones that Dean saw often in old western movies. A black mane, tail and legs below the knees with a base coat of gold, almost burnished copper in color. The animal looked like it belonged under a western comic book hero or the town sheriff that save his whole town from disaster more than once a week.

The second horse was smaller and a littler rougher around the edges, a coat of mottled flecks of reds, browns and whites, giving it a speckled red color. Its rump was splashed and spotted with large white markings. It tossed its head and tugged slightly against a rope halter and lead that was looped around the saddle horn.

A snorted bark drew his attention to a large rough coated collie standing at the buckskin's side. The dog's shoulder would easily brush against Dean's knee. Its large brown eyes clashed with the mottled blue gray, cinnamon and white coat. A thick leather collar was studded and buckled around the animal's neck. It cocked its ears forward and its head to side, looking at him and letting out a small woof.

Dean tore his eyes from the three animals and looked back at the woman, he wet his lips and tried to swallow and choked on his dry throat.

Both boys missed the single black crow feather braided into her hair near her ear.

She only cocked an eyebrow at his stare and reached around into the pack strapped across the cantle back of her saddle next to a set of coiled ropes. She dug for a second before coming up with a couple of canteens. She handed one to Sam who took it with thanks and practically drained the water from it.

She squeezed her heels into the buckskin's sides, the animal stepped forward and turned without protest and she held out the second canteen to Dean. He hesitated, still fighting with the nagging feeling of familiarity and wither he should treat her with cliché flattery or out right suspicion and hate.

"Come on, it'll do ya more good than ya would know and it ain't poisoned." She coaxed.

Dean's eyes widened at her almost mocking tone. He snorted quietly in annoyance.

He reached out and almost snatched the canteen from her hand.

"Thanks." He said with a clipped annoyance in his tone.

She only gave him a slightly amused, crooked smile. Dean unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful, the taste of water woke his survival instinct and he suddenly realized how dehydrated and thirsty he was, the waster tasted like sweet tea suddenly. He almost choked trying to get water into his parched throat and into his belly

"So how long ya boys been sittin' here like damsels of the worst kind?" She asked coyly. Dean narrowed his eyes but Sam put on his best help-me-I-never-had-a-mother smile.

"About four hours." Sam sighed, using a little of the water in the canteen to pour into his hand and rub it through his hair.

"Around yer ears, son, it'll do ya better than in yer hair." She advised, Sam cocked an eye brow at her and she continued, "Well that sounds 'bout right. This stretch of highway's got a number, ya only see someone every six hours or every six days. Color yerselves lucky, it was the former. Then again, ya know yer only a few miles off town…ya coulda walked and got help and been back in that time."

Dean grunted darkly, drawing the woman's eyes from Sam to the older Winchester. Dean wavered under the blood colored gaze.

"We couldn't leave the Impala." Sam supplied and squatted down, stretching out his hand and whistling for the collie.

He'd been watching the dog and the two horses more than the rider, probably drudging up old fantasies of a child hood with a pet. It had always been a step towards normalcy that John Winchester refused to indulge or take. Dean himself had never thought having a dog would have been a bad idea. Maybe even training one to track, hunt and attack like they did. Another Hunter to help pick up slack. Until he learned how much maintenance a dog needed on a daily basis and once again agreed with his father on the matter. That left Sam with nothing but ideals and dreams of a menagerie of animals that he could never have. One of the biggest things he wanted do when he finally got a place was get a puppy. That too had taken a backseat.

The collie pinned its ears slightly and twitched its nose. It seemed to give Sam a look of 'the hell?' the dog twisted around and looked up at the woman, seeming to ask for permission. She nodded down at it. The dog seemed to shrug and trotted over to Sam, sniffing at the mop haired, young man's hand, then stood patiently while Sam's face broke into a wide toothy grin and petted the silk smooth fur between the perked ears and down the neck.

Dean softened a little at the way his baby brother smiled and fawned on the dog so openly. It was getting harder and harder to draw any emotion at all from Sam as the day's seemed to get shorter into the winter. It would be their first Autumn and Winter with out their father, and Sam's second returning to the life of a Hunter and second racked by visions.

Sam still smiling and talking quietly to the collie poured a little of the water left in the canteen into his palm. The collie perked and immediately lapped at the water quickly dripping out of Sam's hand and soaking into the sun baked pavement, a dog in the deserts learned to never pass water when it was offered. Sam smiled even wider and poured a little more into his hand. The collie's tail wagged gently.

The dog was taking a liking to the young man quickly, it was hard to come by a stranger that acknowledged a dog as himself as an individual, much less provide him something as precious as water. Especially as the boy himself needed it. He looked to thin to be healthy, but that was the collie's perspective.

The red head woman smiled approvingly at Sam's action and turned back to Dean, who was watching Sam rub the collie's ears and scratching under his chin.

"That Impala yer daddy's?" She asked, making both men jump slightly and stare at her. She twitched, her radio crackling for a second, she twisted a dial and it quieted, but not before a distinct call of _'Boss?'_ came across the channel.

"What?" Dean asked sharply, almost dangerously.

"If ya weren't willin' to leave her it mean's either she's yer first or yer daddy's, only reason worth stayin' with her for. Either way it's a nice piece of machinery." She shrugged casually, brushing off Dean's tone all together.

"What does a hick like you know about cars like this?" Dean snarked defensively, a pin prick of pain in his heart blossoming and feeding his anger and natural caution at her. She didn't have and right to mention John at all and it stung when she did.

Sam looked shocked, his jaw practically dropping. He'd never heard his brother speak to a woman like that.

The dog growled softly at Dean and the buckskin horse pinned his ears, snorting heavily through his nostrils.

The woman cocked a single eyebrow at him and snorted quietly. "That is a 1967 Chevrolet Impala SS247 big block V8 engine hard top. 385 hp. Black with a burnished chrome finish, not recently detailed and guzzles gas like a mother. Ya recently put in a new manifold and pin wheel from what I can see here, ya have to keep up with old muscle cars like this, they deteriorate like a pat of butter on a warm day." She returned smoothly. The woman squeezed her knees gently and the buckskin stepped closer to Dean, the second horse forced a few steps to keep up with its halter. She leaned forward, looking down at him almost smugly. "Ya know if ya put more air in them tires ya might get better gas mileage."

She smiled at Dean's shocked face. The radio on her hip crackled again, another _'Boss?'_ came across, a little more urgent this time.

"See, I don't know what the women back in Kansas are like, but boys ya best know that Nevada girls know how to run more than one kind of rodeo." She reached out and easily pulled the half filled canteen from his hands. "Have a nice day."

She tugged on the reins and the buckskin turned sharply and trotted away, the red horse prancing a few steps and tossing its head but keeping up. She whistled over her shoulder.

"Let 'er buck, Alamo." She called lightly. The collie snatched the canteen out of Sam's hand, wrapping it's jaws around the plastic and galloping after it's mistress.

Sam stood next to his brother and stared after the retreating woman.

"How did she know that stuff?" Dean muttered.

"How did you know we were from Kansas?" Sam called after her.

The two horses slowed to a walk. She twisted around in the saddle and looked back at him, "'Hicks' can read, son. It's on yer license plate." She called back casually. The radio crackled loudly as she turned it back up.

"_BOSS!"_

"Jesus Chuck, what the hell do ya want?" She said into the radio, pulling it from her hip.

"_We got track up here, big track, puma. At least six hundred pounds."_

"Well, if ya see her fire over her head, or better yet, let Murphy do it, she's a better shot than ya." The woman snorted into the radio.

"_Red, she's got three toes on her left hind."_

"Red?" Dean muttered in surprise and realization.

"Damnit! That's TwoSocks. Listen Chuck, that cat's been up there as long as I've been alive. I don't want her dead and she's to smart to try and go for our ponies." The woman pulled back on the reins, stopping both horses. The red animal pinned its ears as she snarled over the radio waves.

"_Red, she's practically been pacin' on the herd."_ Chuck barked back over the radio.

"Chuck! Don't shoot her unless she's right on ya, she's have to be possessed by demons to go for a 'stang. Chuck, don't shoot that cat, ya understand me?"

"_Alright boss, alright."_ Chuck sounded embittered.

"Only if she's gone for ya, understood?"

"_Yes, ma'am."_

She shut off the radio and clipped it back to her hip, snarling curses.

"Celia?" Dean asked sharply. She stiffened and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"Celia, Celia Northwind?" Dean asked, stepping forward.

"Yes, sir." She said cautiously.

"I'm Dean, Dean Wilson. I was the one that contacted you this morning." Dean said hurriedly, jogging towards her.

She cocked her head and squinted, as if trying to remember, then her eyes flashed in understanding.

"Well, damnit!" She snorted and turned the buckskin back, trotting the distance closed before pulling the horse up and dismounting in a smooth motion. Her boots hitting the pavement with a thud and giving away that she was really some inches smaller than Dean in height. She walked a few steps forward, her left knee seemed stiff and caused a limp in her step.

She held out her hand and Dean quickly took it to close the space. Dean smiled genuinely at her and she returned it. The two horses and dog stepping up right behind her.

Dean was startled by her hand. It was small compared to his, but large for a woman's, heavy and rough to the touch. The skin was browned and rough, thickened from years of work, it gave Dean the impression that his own calloused palm was baby smooth. But it fit smoothly into his. She drew back setting her hands on her hips.

Her whole demeanor had changed in an instant. The smooth talking and tread wary woman of barely moments before had melted away to a truly friendly person. Her voice had caved slightly to make some of the weariness she'd described to him known in a tone. Her stance was swayed and she had made them equals by getting off the horse and standing with him face to face. Dean's Hunter instincts took over as he reexamined her briefly, he was taking in weaknesses now.

The limp in her walk, there was a wheezing in her breathing and her arms and neck were marked with scars. Including a large one that ringed completely around her throat. Dean instantly recognized it for a scar left over from being hung by a noose. That alone perked his interest.

He also noticed her hair hung oddly, sort of flared out a little around her ears, though his sharp eyes couldn't see why.

"Well, from what Eli said 'bout ya and those notes I would have figured ya for more of a gentleman, Dean Wilson." She chided gently.

Dean ducked his head and looked out at her under his lashes, trying to look undeniable. "Sorry, the heat and being stranded, got to me a little." He knew the lie was only partial. Sam snorted from his side. Dean twisted and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Miss Northwind this is Sam, my brother." Dean introduced.

"Hi." Sam waved slightly.

"Hey Sam, nice to meet ya." She took his hand and shook it. The sidelong look that Sam threw at him, Dean could tell that he noted her skin as quickly as he had. "And it's Celia, or Red, if ya prefer." She braced her hands back on her hips and looked between them.

"Red?" Sam asked.

"On account." She waved dismissively at her face and general direction of her hair. Dean could even see that her blood red pupils had softened significantly. They looked a little darker, slightly more brown but not enough to kill the general effect. They still made him wary of her. Red eyes was an abnormality that he wasn't going to let slip passed him.

Sam only nodded and cast another look at his brother. They didn't notice that Celia noticed. She narrowed her eyes slightly and they hardened again.

"So, should I be worried that ya boys drove all the way out here from Kansas to see me?" She asked quietly, making it clear that she was not stupid. Dean and Sam looked slightly shocked and that made her relax a little.

"Oh…well…no…see…" Dean trailed.

"We were in state for a break, visiting Las Vegas and we read the article and it seemed interesting." Sam hurriedly covered.

"Uh huh." She sighed and rubbed her chin, bracing her thumb in her jaw line, she studied them with an eye that could see the barest of track in hard packed dirt or the smallest flinch in a horse's step. She knew by the way Dean's green eyes darkened slightly and Sam's hand fiddled slightly with his ear that they were lying. "Has anyone ever told ya that ya were bad liars?" She asked out right, she smiled almost playfully at them and stayed relaxed. Oddly because normally anyone lying to her pissed her off and made her coil like a rattle snake. But she stayed loose, casual, actually enjoying watching the two young men fidget.

If it had been a phone call Dean would have hung up in a hurry to escape a situation like this, here he was stuck with no escape and they needed a reason.

"Well? And don't lie to me boys." She prompted but refused to give them anything to work with. Dean and Sam swallowed dryly.

"It's about the fires and the predator boom, like I told you in the e-mails." Dean decided half-truths might get through better than a fresh lie.

"You e-mailed her?" Sam asked sharply.

Dean glared at his brother and Celia restrained a laugh easily, she lifted and eyebrow and braced a mask of expectance that made any of the native kids in her home town break down with the truth without a second thought,

"He did, so this is 'bout the 'stangs?"

"Yeah. We heard about what was happening and we have a habit of checking out things like this and learning everything we can about them and…doing everything in our power to help stop it." Dean reasoned weakly, why was it so hard to shake her. Her eyes dug right into him, cutting passed his skin and into his bones. He fell back on his blaming the lack of sleep and heat.

No matter how times he used that excuse he never tried to stop his slow self destruction, he could blame all he wanted but never tried to stop it.

"So ya consider yerselves some breed of travelin' soldiers, then? Call to the fight, whatever it may be." She snorted.

"No, we're students." Dean was going to stick with that lie no matter what…or at least until he had to pull Celia from the gaping maw of some monstrosity or other.

"And yer majors?"

"Criminal Law." Sam replied instantly. It was the major he'd hoped for at Stanford nearly two years ago.

Celia cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to make the connection with why he would have a Criminal Law degree and come out into the desert for natural phenomenon.

"Law?" She asked with a cocked eyebrow and shifted her weight a little, there was a slight cringe, pinching in her face before she settled again.

"Yeah. I'm in Land Management." Dean supplied quickly.

"I'm kind of along for the ride." Sam shrugged.

Celia seemed to accept that much, she actually smiled. "He's yer older isn't he?" She asked Sam.

"Brother? Yeah." Sam shrugged.

She nodded, "I'd follow my brother into Hell, too." She shrugged a little.

Dean and Sam cocked their eyebrows and looked between each other.

"Not that Nevada is Hell." She sighed and looked down at the perked ears and cocked head of the collie. "Land Management? I see where it might have somethin' to do with whats goin' on here, but whats the interest enough to drive here from Kansas? Long drive for fires and predator booms."

"Well, I kind of have a thing about natural phenomenon. It attracted my attention." Dean shrugged, trying to look sheepish.

Celia snorted, "Natural."

Sam and Dean narrowed their eyes, sipping seamlessly into Hunter mindset.

"You don't think so?" Sam asked cautiously.

"Hell naw!" She spat, snarling and surprising both boys. "Brush fires when it's done nothin' but rain, the earth gone flake dry, predators comin' down from the mountains: wolves, bears and mountain lions, when the preys barely there and nothin' for 'em to go for but the horses and the cattle, hard prey? And there's barely a day started with the sky practical steel colored from the cloud cover. Ain't natural." She sighed, pushing her Stetson hat back to scratch at her temples before pulling it back down low.

"You think its supernatural?" Dean asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"I didn't say that. Unnatural, yeah. But that's different." She shook her head and snorted. Then sighing looked over their shoulders at the Impala. "Mind if I have a look at that old war horse?" She asked, pointing.

Dean grit his teeth and reluctantly nodded. She stepped passed the two brothers towards the car. Sam stepped back as Dean turned on his heel to practically hover protectively at her shoulder next to his baby. Sam watched as the buckskin, red horse and dog trotted to keep up behind her, following on her heels.

"I know a thing or two 'bout engines." She shrugged and leaned over the engine, tilting her hat back a little. She glanced at Dean practically hanging on her shoulder.

"So it was yer daddy's, huh?" She sighed. Dean swallowed dryly and nodded. She smiled gently at him, "Don't worry, son. Probably ain't much more than a short somewhere. Have ya back on the road by night fall." She soothed, patting him on the shoulder then turning back to the engine, "Got a flash light?"

His shoulder still tingling from her touch he handed her the pen light he'd been using. She thanked him and clicked it on and leaned forward.

She inspected the engine in silence, Dean slightly nervous, he shifted his weight and twitched.

"Huh…" she muttered, her eye catching something, handing the light back she pushed her sleeve up higher and reached right down into the engine. She snorted. "Cold…" she muttered but ignoring it and leaned all her weight onto her lip balanced stomach. She was stretching, her left leg actually kicking up in the air and her face practically pressing into the manifold.

"Dean, honey. Ya run over anythin'? Animal or somethin'?" She asked looking up at him, her face pinched slightly as she practically rummaged in the engine.

"No?" Dean asked surprised, glancing at Sam who shook his head briefly before returning his full gaze onto the horses again. Dean snorted, leaving his baby brother to fantasize about a pet. "No." He said more confidently.

"Huh…" She winced shut her eyes and there was an ominous crack that made Dean jump out of his skin, nearly lunging at her but she pulled back, setting back on her feet again. She sighed looking at what she had pulled from the engine and held it for him to see.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked, startled.

"That is three quarters of a femur. Left hind if I'm not mistaken." She tossed the cracked bone and recaught it in her hand. One end was splintered and it was stark white, sun bleached.

"Femur of what?" Dean asked, pretty sure that he would have been able to recognize a human bone. This one was definitely too small.

"Looks like coyote." She muttered, tossing the bone to the collie. The dog caught and held the bone between his teeth and wagged his brush tail gently.

"Coyote?"

"Yep, and the damn thing shredded yer fuel line." She snorted, shaking her hand out. As if to prove the point a few droplets of gasoline spattered the ground. "This baby ain't movin' without a serious overhaul."

A sharp shriek of noise made both jump.

Sam had reached out boldly to try and pet the red horse. The startled animal reacted in the only way a trapped prey animal knew: violently.

The animal reared up trashing and lashing out at Sam. The younger Winchester stumbled back, shocked and terrified. The red animal pinned its ears, trashing and shrieking in fear.

Celia reacted in a blur, she grabbed Sam's arm and yanked him roughly back and away from the jerking horse. Sam stumbled, crashing to the earth on his butt. Dean at his side in a second.

She lunged forward and snagged the halter. She was talking rapidly to the animal.

"Easy, old son, Easy old boy, c'mon now!' She kept her voice calm and focused on the horse. She unsnapped the lead and yanked him around into a tight circle, forcing the animal to put it's hooves onto the pavement. It pranced tossed its head, pinning it's ears and whinnying nervously. Kicking out every now and then. The dog and buckskin stepped back to give the upset animal and Celia room to move.

"Easy, baby. Easy son. C'mon now little brother." She soothed, pacing the horse in a circle. It slowed it down and seemed to be calming it. Though the dark brown eyes still rolled, showing white, and the nostrils flared wide, ears thrown back. Whinnying and nickering nervously, prancing in place when Celia stopped circling it, took a side of the halter in each hand and carefully pulled the horse's head down. The animal strained briefly before giving and letting its head be drawn down below the knees.

The red flecked sides heaved in panicked breath, air rushing loudly through its nose.

"Good boy, settle, little brother, settle down." She soothed, holding his head steady, until she carefully removed her grip from one side of the halter and rubbed the animal's cheek.

"Sammy, Dean, y'all alright?" She asked sharply. Still petting the horse but her eyes were turned on them, worried. Sam flinched at being called Sammy and took Dean's help to get back to his feet.

"Yeah," He muttered, embarrassed.

"What happened?" She asked, finally letting the horse lift his head back to normal height and she continued to rub his sweat matted neck. He twitched and pranced in place.

"I tired to pet him and he lost it." Sam accused, embarrassment burning his face. "I didn't do anything."

Celia snorted, sighed quietly and gave Sam a gentle smile.

"Yeah, ya did, son. Ya scared him. Guess ya really are a city boy, can't tell when a pony's nervous." She noticed Sam grim look of distaste of being cast off for a horse. "Sam, ya didn't do anythin' on purpose. But that's not what he thinks. Things were workin' against ya."

"What are you talking about?!" Dean snarled. "That animal went for my brother!"

"I should say that yer brother went for my horse." Celia said back coolly, she rubbed under the red horse's chin. Dean and Sam looked at her in surprise and confusion. She sighed in mild frustration, "Listen. Nobody did anythin' right. So lets do it right, Sam. C'mere." She stretched her hand out towards him and held onto the halter.

Sam looked startled and Celia kept her eyes steadily on his and her hand held out towards him. Dean narrowed his eyes and started to protest.

"Dean, son, relax. The only way to solve a problem like this is take a step back and try again. So if ya don't mind its between yer brother and the horse. C'mere Sam, slow now." She commanded gently.

Dean's jaw slung shut instantly, his eyes blazing protectively and angrily at her. He bristled when Sam sighed and cautiously stepped forward. He tensed when the horse nervously pranced a step to the side.

"Tell him 'whoa pony'. Make sure he can see ya clearly." Celia instructed gently.

Sam swallowed, unsure why he was doing thins but he followed her instructions, stepping around so that the red horse could see him clearly. Maybe it was because he still wanted to get near the horse, touch him. It had suddenly become a challenge and no Winchester male could turn their back on a challenge like that.

"Whoa, pony." The younger Winchester said clearly.

"Good Sam. Ya did good with Alamo, do that same, treat him like a big dog. Let him come to ya." Celia instructed. Dean nervously stood aside and watched, the red horse had his ears perked forward. Eyes wide and nostrils flaring, all his attention trained on his younger brother. The horse's head was flung up high to try and look down at Sam.

"Palm up and out, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Alright Sam." Celia corrected, "Slow now. Walk towards him and keep yer hand out."

Sam did as instructed, easing towards the horse.

"Try and relax, Sam." Celia soothed the younger man, "Horses can tell when yer nervous and that only make them nervous."

As if to prove her point the horse tossed his head and side stepped closer to Celia."

"Alright, Red. Alright."

Dean noticed the slight smile that creased Celia's lips at the nickname. Sam visibly relaxed at the slight smile. And that made Dean relax a little that his brother was feeling some kind of safety and that in turn relaxed the horse.

The red horse carefully stretched his neck to sniff at the air above Sam's palm before drawing back.

Sam closed the space, repeating a quiet mantra of 'whoa pony'. Until Celia instructed hit to put his palm right up to the red horse's nose. The horse watched Sam and snuffled in his hand.

"Go on and pet him now, Sam." Sam advanced and patted the red horse's neck and the animal seemed to twitch a little but allowed the petting to continue for a minuet before snorting and stepping away.

"And that how ya do that, Sam. All that ya just done can be applied to all horses, men and dogs. Approach each the same way and ya will find yer life a slide easier." Celia said wisely and gently turned the red horse back towards the buckskin and clipping the lead back onto the halter.

"I'll take that advice, Red." Sam sighed, watching almost longingly as Celia patted the horse's neck then rubbed the nose of the buckskin. Dean rolled his eyes, wondering personally if his baby brother was eyeballing the horse or the girl.

"If that horse is so mellow now, what happened earlier?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Well, Sam went for him wrong. And like I said, there's a few things 'bout this boy that was workin' against Sam."

"Like what?" Sam asked, still eyeing the red horse and not all that aware that Celia and Dean were talking around him, the same way that parents spelled out words to each other around their kids.

"Well, he's a stud, so the testosterone likes to mess with his head. The two of ya would know all 'bout that." She flicked her eyes to Dean teasingly. Dean snorted quietly and rolled his eyes at the tease, relaxing again, the three of them had barely know each other for twenty minuets and already Celia and Sam were exchanging nicknames and she was gently teasing them. Celia continued, "Then, he ain't broke, at all, ya can still see the sun and the moon floatin' in his eyes. And the way I gentle 'em, hopefully he'll never lose it, only learn when to hold it back. And it don't help that he's been doin' just that all day. Workin' puts him in a bad mood, for now. But first and foremost he's an appaloosa." Celia patted the horse gently between the eyes and stepped away to face the Winchesters fully.

"What's that mean or have anything to do with anything?" Sam shrugged.

"Appaloosa's a coat pattern, breed and type. They're any solid color with a blanket patterning of spots primarily on the rump but can extend up to the shoulders and neck, down the legs or you can get a leopard, which is white with dark spot patterning or a reverse called snowflake. Usually small, thick set with a strong back and mind." Dean rambled off almost automatically.

"What?" Sam asked startled.

"Well, look who knows their horses." Celia snorted and smiled fully at Dean, her blood color eyes locked on his green. It sent a nervous shiver through his spine but he hid it easily.

"I do my research." Dean shrugged, trying to hide a small flush.

"Well, research and experience are different. Appaloosa's the horse of the warrior. And he acts like it. And the damn things refuse to die, ya can walk up to him and put a pistol to his skull and he'll only glare at ya after ya fire and ask if ya want to try again." Celia said appreciatively and looked over her shoulder at the red horse, the buckskin gave a snort and tossed his head. She snorted, "Not that there's anythin' wrong with blood mustangs of pure color, eh Blackbird?"

The buckskin whinnied and pawed at the asphalt.

"You're really passionate about these animals." Sam observed.

"I grew up on the horse. They were my people before people were." She said cryptically and shrugged.

"Especially appaloosas." Dean said, putting words into her mouth and making assumptions. He swallowed dryly and felt a little light headed, blinking slowly.

"They're the horse of my people, and I've never had one falter under me." Celia said, squinting against the sun but she watched him suspiciously, noticing the glassy look creeping in his eyes.

"You're people?" Sam asked.

"My mother was Nez Perce and Pawnee blood line of the oldest kind, the appaloosas were theirs. My father was Blackfoot Indian, his people were of the northern mustangs. The horse is in my blood, just like the desert and the mountains." She sighed, glancing passed them to the blue rock mountains on the horizon.

The Winchesters stood quietly aside letting her blood colored eyes turn a darker color.

"So he acted up for all those reasons?" Sam asked finally, drawing her back to reality.

She blinked once, the color of her eyes paling again and making Dean's Hunter instinct crawl.

"That. And it don't help that someone beat on him when he was a colt." She reached out and gently brushed her hands over rises in the appaloosa's neck that were distinctly scars. Dean's eyes narrowed at the marks. "Three years worth maybe, messed him up bad in his head. Bought him outta a slaughter pen for a hundred square, been workin' on him ever since. Quite the little project. The way he acts with men I figure it was a male that thrashed him. He'll be a real good ranch pony when I'm done gentlin' him. And he's fine to look at." She said with a smile and her eyes locked on the red pony.

"What's his name?" Sam asked.

"Strawbury. For his coat."

"Strawberry?" Dean asked with a snort.

"No, _Strawbury_. He's for my sister, so she got to name him. She's out grown Chester." Celia said with a shrug. The radio on her hip buzzed and chatter came over the channel but she turned it down, Dean assumed because no one called for her.

"Anyway, listen boys. It's a holiday weekend, which means in a place like this everyone goes out of town to visit family. And I mean everyone. The pharmacist, the doctors, all the boys down at the police station…and Joey, he's the only certified mechanic in town. He won't be back until Wednesday."

"That's like five days!" Dean howled throwing his head back and yanking at his hair, making both horses and Celia jump slightly and stare at him.

"Calm down, Dean son." She soothed and waved at him to settle. "My father was and my brother is insane for muscle cars like this, and I know how to fix a fuel line on a Chevy, no matter what it is. And I have no doubt that ya know the ins and outs of that car blindfolded. We can order the part into Elko, pick it up and between us we can have ya back on the road sooner than that, depending on how long we wait for the part. Sound like a plan?"

"We'll have to leave her here!? On the fucking highway!?" Dean barked.

"Calm down Dean." Sam sighed, "Sounds like a good deal to me, thanks Red. We appreciate it." Sam smiled at her. She shrugged a shoulder.

"Ya don't have to leave her on the road. We'll come back for her." Celia sighed. "C'mon if y'all can't even walk towards a horse without spookin' him ain't no way ya can ride from what I can see. Let's start walkin'." She caught the reins of the buckskin, deftly slipped the bit and bridle off of the horse and adjusted the blue halter and lead it wore underneath. She draped the bridle over the saddle horn, loosened the girth and looped the blue lead around her shoulders. Sam and Dean hesitated as she turned to start walking them back towards the town three miles off. She stopped.

"What now, boys?" She asked gently, wondering to decide if Kansas boys were too temperamental and hesitant for her taste.

"The Impala." Dean motioned towards the stationary Impala. Celia sighed and whistled.

"Alamo, keep and eye on the car. Stay." She ordered. "Stay, dog."

The collie gave a muffled bark around the bone in his jaws and plopped down next to the Impala's front wheel in the shade cast by the car itself.

"It's in good paws, boys. C'mon." She started walking away. Sam shrugged and jogged to catch up. Dean glared at the dog.

"Not a scratch or I'll kill you." He snarled.

The collie dropped the bone, bared his teeth and growled as Dean walked away. Alamo snorted and looked up at the crow circling slowly overhead.

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**Hope y'all enjoyed, please review. Adios. **

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	3. Mercy of A Whisperer

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Three: Mercy of A Whisperer**

"**Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, does the enlightened man dislike to wade into its waters.****"  
**

**-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**………**

Sam walked animatedly at Celia's side, he seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet. It took about half a mile before the two horses and Celia herself to stop jumping and twitching every time Sam moved and spoke. Dean stayed a step behind, contending himself to watch Celia's back as they walked, studying her the same way he studied any prey that happened on his radar. What was it about her that set off his instinct to react violently. The same creeping feeling he got around someone possessed by a demon.

Then there was that nagging familiarity. Where had he seen her before…had he seen her before? He shook his head.

It seemed like the familiarity was winning out over his natural caution. He couldn't help but like the way that she smiled and listened to Sam in everything he said. She didn't seem annoyed at all. Dean himself was sure that by this time he would have threatened Sam with a loaded shot gun just to shut him up. He couldn't help but wonder how she had learned to be so tolerant of strangers chattering in her ears.

Maybe it had something to do with a younger sister or the older brother. Elijah Greer seemed the chatty sort. Or could be living in a small town, two hundred and forty wasn't a high number for a town at all and word traveled and passed fast in an environment like that. Dean knew from experience how much a farm raised kid was more likely to gossip than a city boy.

Or maybe it was the horses. He'd read so much information in such a short time, most of it about the Nevada desert, weather patterns and horses. He'd found something about the book and movie called _The Horse Whisperer_. He hadn't taken the plot of the book well but the concept tagged him to go looking for more about 'whispering'. It was confusing and layered over on itself countless time, only getting harder to understand.

What he gleaned from it was this: that a certain few were born to listen to and understand the horse on a level of soul and spirit. They heard the soul before the body and by nature healed the wounds they found there festering.

Dean had watched Celia talk to and turn Strawbury around over and over to calm him, the way that she barely touched the horse's scars and spoke about him. If he believed in things like whisperers he would have pegged Celia for one in a heartbeat. One of those articles had mentioned that whisperers extended this ability to the people around them too.

Dean shivered slightly at the idea of Celia being able to read their souls and see what the Winchester boys had been submitted to forcibly and willingly. The thought unnerved him.

Dean jumped when he was unceremoniously swatted in the face with the buckskin's tail. He jerked back and sneezed loudly. Both Sam and Celia glanced back at him as they walked. Her blood colored eyes danced with mild concern, an eyebrow raised.

Dean felt a small flush pass across his face but before he could speak the tail swung around and slashed across his face again, catching him in the eyes. He snarled sharply and jerked back a step rubbing his eyes. Sam burst out laughing, giddiness getting to his mop haired head. But Celia let got of the lead and turned to walk back to Dean.

"Ya alright?" She asked, bending around to look up at him. Obviously trying to see his face, "He got ya in the eyes, didn't he?"

Dean grunted and rubbed his face, the sting of the collected coarse hair lingering and making him blink back tears.

"Hurt like a bitch, don't it?" She asked, Dean could hear a sympathetic laughter in her tone.

"Yeah." Dean agreed, his face flushing more. Celia's eyes narrowed. She didn't like his color. He was pale, and she understood the flush was from embarrassment, but the way it lingered on his face told a different tale that she was all too familiar with.

He wasn't sweating, so dehydration for sure.

She listened to his breathing.

Congested, dry tightening but congested.

Heat stroke.

She masked her sudden worry, knowing that alerting the young man would only make him feel it.

It was still a mile and a half into town then another mile to the Greer ranch. And she was short on water, the two brothers quickly depleting her canteens. It didn't help that the older brother refused to leave his leather jacket behind in the Impala.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked, he'd stopped laughing to notice that his brother was still rubbing his eyes and Celia was watching him with a calculated and wary eye.

"Just stings." Dean snapped, irritated and more snap in his voice than necessary.

"Damn Dean, I was just asking." Sam bit back, his playful attitude shattering in an instant.

"Well you don't need to ask!" Dean snarled, rubbing his eyes harder, only making them sting worse and tried to glare through watering eyes at his brother.

"God you are such a jerk!' Sam barked.

"Bitch!"

Celia sighed and crossed back to the buckskin and tightened the girth over his sweaty skin, making sure the saddle was adjusted she took the bridle and crossed to Strawbury and swiftly slipped the bit into his mouth and the bridle over his head. She draped the reins over his neck. She whistled sharply, the piercing noise making both horses jump and the brothers jerk around sharply.

"Boys, if yer gonna bitch the whole way shall we make it a short trip?" Celia snorted, hiding her concern and need to get the Winchesters out of the sun and heat as quickly as possible with annoyance.

With out another word she braced against Strawbury's back and vaulted up easily. The roan appaloosa pranced nervously to the side and chomped at the bit, grinding his teeth.

She knew it was a bad idea to throw two inexperienced riders onto a horse, no matter if she was riding double with one and the other was getting a babysitter of a horse without a bridle.

"C'mon now." She coaxed, addressing the boys and the horse twitching under her.

Sam and Dean looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Um, Red," Sam stuck happily with the nickname, "Neither of us can ride a horse."

"Sammy, Blackbird won't mind babysittin' ya and I'll ride double with yer brother. C'mon Dean." She held her hand out in his direction. The older brother's face played emotions rapidly before fading into a neutral mask of shock.

"What?" He choked out.

"Ya want to get yer Impala off that highway today?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam could say nothing less than that he was impressed with the way that Celia went straight for Dean's weakness to manipulate him into something he didn't want to do.

The younger Winchester watched as his older brother heaved a sigh and eyeing the nervously prancing horse he crossed over and took Celia's hand. Again he was slightly thrown by the roughness of her skin.

"Give a hop." She ordered. Dean snorted and did as instructed, startled when she hauled sharply against his weight. Dean yelped when he landed awkwardly half on the colt's rump. Sam panicked slightly when the horse gave fearful snorted and jerked backwards. He made to rush forward, but stalled just as swiftly when the colt suddenly went very still under Celia's gentle and expert guidance while she continued to keep a firm hold on Dean's hand and refusing to allow the heavier man to fall back to the earth. She leaned back and down, easing Dean back onto the ground.

"Ya alright?" She asked when Dean was firmly on the ground again.

"Yeah, just surprised me." Dean muttered, embarrassment flushing his face. Celia sighed, the last thing he needed was getting his temperature up any higher than she was sure it was, touching his hand was enough proof for her that he was in a dangerous zone, it was obvious that he was starting to feel it, too.

"Alright, mostly my fault. This time swing yer leg up and over when ya hop." She explained and held out her hand to him again. Dean sighed and took it, he girt his teeth, wondering why he felt so heavy and vaulted when he felt her pull, swinging his leg up and over. Dean still struggled a little but it was much easier with Strawbury barely moving under Celia's hand.

It felt strange to straddle the wide, furred rump. Sam breathed a little easier once his brother was firmly settled in place. Strawbury made a few sharp noises of protest, throwing his head and snorting. Celia patted the colt's neck talking quietly to him and telling him he was a good boy. Dean was struck by a small wave of dizziness, he swallowed thickly and panted. Celia tightened a little and glanced back at him. Her nervousness was starting to spike into mild panic. Maybe fear.

"Alright, Sammy, mount up."

"It's Sam." Sam muttered, nervously and distractedly. Celia smiled lightly.

"Put yer left boot into the left stirrup and a hand on the horn." She explained.

"Right," Sam agreed and stepped up to the left side of the horse. He knew in theory how to mount and ride a horse. But that was theory.

He fumbled, jumped when the buckskin's head swung back around to look at him, ears cast forward and dark eyes inspecting him.

The buckskin snorted and swung his head back to look front, lifting one hind hoof on a turn back, a rest position.

Sam struggled to fit his left foot into the stirrup and instinctively grabbed a hold of the saddle horn, with one long leg bunched awkwardly up and the other resting on the cement Sam felt off balance.

"Now the same as yer brother. Hop and swing up." She instructed.

Thought the horse was small and Sam tall it took him two tries before he awkwardly settled himself into the saddle. The buckskin shifted, taking a step forward, startling Sam and upsetting his balance.

Dean tensed and Sam gasped thickly.

"Take it easy boy, Blackbird'll treat ya sweet." Celia assured them. "All y'all have to do is hang on. Sam, wrap yer hand in the lead, hold onto the horn and a handful of mane and just hold tight, he won't let ya fall." Celia soothed. "Dean, scoot in closer, son and hold on to me."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

She looked over her shoulder at him, "Ya wanna get thrown off?" She asked, her stomach tightening in worry at his flush face. Dean shook his head. "Then hold onto me."

Dean couldn't understand why he was having a problem with the idea of being close to her. Normally he'd be spewing innuendos and pressing himself into her back suggestively. He couldn't focus, he felt light headed and his vision was on the verge of swimming. He tried shaking his head clear. Dean's world was muted and dull.

Celia felt her concern and nervousness spike again. "Dean, son?" She asked quietly.

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry, Red." He scooted up on the colt's back. He wrapped his heavy arms around Celia's waist. She tensed slightly and relaxed just as quickly. She could feel the heat pouring off of him through her shirt and his jacket. God she needed to get him into ice water now. Now she was sure it was fear crawling in her belly.

"Alright, hold tight." She commanded both boys, she felt Dean's arms tighten and watched Sam's grip do the same.

She clicked her tongue, gave a short whistle and squeezed her knees and heels into the colt's side.

The appaloosa lurched forward, Dean let out a startled harsh breath of air and tightened his grip almost painfully around her waist and pressed himself into her back. Celia couldn't help but smile as Strawbury got over his lunge and settled into a quick stepped trot. Blackbird didn't bother to wait for Sam's command and stepped up, a much smoother start than the younger horse and startling Sam less than what Dean got. The two horses trotted quietly, their hooves making loud clomps and clacks against the asphalt in a steady rhythm. Strawbury tossed his head and kicked up his heels like any colt would and Dean only clung tighter to Celia for support. He'd never been so nervous, unless Sam was unconscious in a hospital under a false name.

The movement beneath him seemed unsteady, rocking and rolling. And high off the ground, which seemed to be moving faster than it did when he was driving the Impala. He stopped watching the ground.

Celia glanced at Sam and saw that the lanky young man had settled into Blackbird's pace, he was still unsteady and his grip was almost vicious into the buckskin's mane.

Celia clicked and squeezed her knees again into the colt's sides. The appaloosa instantly doubled his pace into a steady and long legged lope. Blackbird matched the pace smoothly. Arching his neck the older horse paced just a head of the colt, acting as a buffer.

Dean felt his stomach rolling almost painfully and he was tremendously glad that he hadn't eaten anything in the last ten hours, or he would have made a wonderful show of falling off the colt and vomiting all over the side of the road. He groaned and dry heaved sickly, finally burying his face into Celia's shoulder and gritting his teeth against the dizziness and nausea, he tried to block out the world but he couldn't shake the rhythm.

Celia tensed up and glanced over at Sam. The younger brother was struggling with the faster pace and she was nervous about pushing the two horses any faster and up setting either young man. The last thing she wanted to do was pause to scrape one of them off the road. But Dean's attitude and action of digging his face into her shoulder spiked her now assured fear again.

She was glad that the mile and a half was eaten in a hurry and they crossed the border into Tuscarora. Sam glanced briefly at the carved rock sign that welcomed new comers to the town. Sam looked around, soaking in the quaint and quiet world that his brother was missing as the asphalt under the horses' hooves turned into hard packed dirt.

It looked like a town that had been left behind by in the forties by the world. It was still the town that had blossomed in the great migration, before the world was plunged into the Second World War.

Sam would have easily mistaken it for a themed "ghost" town that tourists invaded in seasons. Buildings of brick, stone and wood work, freshly hand painted signs and clean glass windows and store front doors thrown open into the heat of midday or locked shut with a small note in the glass explaining the reason for absence. The few people that Sam noticed took refuge in the shaded verandas and board walks of hard wood that linked up the oldest buildings down the main street. Glancing down the other main streets Sam saw personal residences, a post office, elementary and high school and the athletic fields beyond, a small hospital, police station and what looked like a gas station and auto shop. Sam assumed that was Joey's place.

The whole town was lush, fed by the namesake river system near by. Large juniper and other desert thriving trees cast shade onto long sweet grass. It was like a small oasis in the middle of the desert. Sam only saw a few gruff people, all looked oddly stereotypical of a small town; jeans, tee shirts and flannels, boots and Stetson hats, mingling on the board walks or leaning over the beds of beat up trucks. The residences eyed Sam and Dean with a scrutiny that was plain that strangers were not entirely welcomed but said nothing or chose to save their energy for gossiping and raised their hands to wave at Celia, a few even calling out to her, hollering 'Red' or 'Boss'. Celia seemed single minded and only nodded or raised her hand in response at they loped through town.

Dean groaned loudly and panted into Celia's shoulder.

That tore it for the young native. Her whole mind focused suddenly on the health of the young man riding double with her, her mind sharpened down into the need for survival of another with a purpose and ferocity of a mother bear. Without another hesitation she clicked into the colt's ear and whispered, "Let 'er buck." The colt and buckskin snorted, arched their necks and doubled their paces. Sam gasped as he found himself clinging desperately to a galloping mustang. Though the appaloosa kicked p his heels he didn't give much more fight than that. Celia grit her teeth and leaned low over the colt's head, surging him forward. They blazed down the main street, exploded around a far corner and tore out passed a large arena and stables, and a white washed church then out onto a dirt and gravel road that stretched out for miles out of sight of rolling hills that were mixed shades of green and gold grasses. The two horses galloped purposefully along a fence line of massive wooden round ties and box mesh wire. Dean clung to her, the speed and movement only succeeding in upsetting him more. The drumming of hooves turned into pounding for the older brother.

Sam grasped as tightly to the saddle and lead rope as possible when the buckskin swerved and plunged right down a long drive, following the fence line and appaloosa colt passed double red pipe gates and down a driveway towards a large stone and brick work house. It looked colonial ranch, two stories and an attic, sloping roof and a wide wrap around porch with a porch swing on chains and deck furniture of wood. There was a muddy jeep parked in the gravel and about three hundred yards further a massive barn and stable of the same building materials as the house surrounded by a maze of different fences lines carving out paddocks, arena space and a round pen. Large stainless steel troughs of water were hub of life as horses of all different breeds and types congregated to drink along side cattle and wild deer. All heads flew up as the colt and buckskin crashed recklessly into the yard. The livestock scattered and the deer fled long bounded strides to stay clear but stopped to watch from a safe distance.

One large horse with pale cream colored fur rushed up to another of the red pipe gates and threw it's head over the metal. It let out a high pitched whinny.

The buckskin, Blackbird and the colt, Strawbury drew up as Celia pulled steadily back on the reins and whoaed with a steady voice and easy son.

Blackbird drew up faster than the colt and smoother still, keeping Sam balanced and from falling. The buckskin threw back his head, pinned his ears and let out a deep chested whinny. The noise rang in Sam ears almost painfully. The cream colored horse pinned its ears and whinnied again, it's voice deeper and heavier. Blackbird swung his head around towards the appaloosa, Celia and Dean slumped against her back.

That startled Sam, "Dean?" He said worriedly. His voice drowned out by the huffing snorts of the buckskin and the high whinny to answer the cream horse. The colt chirruped nervously prancing in place and refusing to settle. Sam looked at the cream horse in time to catch what he took for a look of shock. The cream's head threw back, ears pinned and eyes gone wide with jaw slightly slack. Sam watched a pretty three colored paint horse trot up; it nickered quietly at the cream. The cream snorted and nickered with a heavy head shake and a low whinny. The same look seemed to cross the painted horse's face, shock if Sam could call it anything. Then the painted animal threw her head over the metal pipe gate and let a sharp whinny of noise, though its voice seemed older and gentler, like a worried mother. The buckskin thre up his head and reared half back, throwing Sam off balance and clinging tightly to the horn and lead rope to stay up. Blackbird let out an annoyed rush of air that sounded as close to a roar as a horse could get. The appaloosa colt whinnied high and fearful.

The painted animal shook her head and pinned her ears.

Sam had the distinct feeling that the horses were having a conversation about himself and Dean.

Finally Sam shoved himself free of the buckskin, tripping over his own legs and landing with a thud on the hard packed earth. Before he could struggle to get up a hand gripped him under the arm and tugged him up to his feet.

Sam flinched as pain shocked across his skin at the touch, a flair of burning pain. The hand released his arm as soon as he was on his feet.

"Ya alright, Sammy?" Celia asked gently. Sam only nodded. "Good help me with yer brother." She quickly handed him the reins to the prancing appaloosa and walked around to Dean side, still straddled the colt perilously

"What? What's wrong with Dean?" Sam asked sharply, his voice spiking. He started to let go of the reins.

"Sammy, hold those reins." Celia ordered sharply. She grabbed Dean's arm and gently pulled, draping his arm across her shoulder in the same motion. She wrapped her near arm around his waist and pulled him firmly down to the earth. Dean struggled, slumping a little and practically fell off the colt. The animal jerked and jumped nervously as Dean's weight pounded into Celia's side. She flinched as his heavier weight came down on her. Dean seemed to come back to himself, trying to stand on his own but having to struggle and lean on Celia's frame.

"Dean?!" Sam was quickly starting to panic.

"Sammy, just relax, best way ya can help him is helpin' me. Walk those two horses over to that gate," She motioned with a free hand towards a round pen, "turn 'em loose in that pen and make sure ya close that gate then come on inside. Alright?"

Her calm and collected voice and steady commands did what John had never truly managed, immediate reaction without question. Sam nodded and quickly tugged the red colt towards the gate. The buckskin followed without being pulled. Sam threw a nervous glance back as Celia steadied his brother. With an arm draped across her shoulders helped the older brother weave towards the back steps of the wrap around porch.

Dean's mind was whirling fog. He felt pain shooting through his chest. He clung desperately to Celia, though it took him a minuet to understand that it as Celia. He'd wondered for a while how Sam had suddenly shrunk a full foot in height. His limbs felt heavy and it was hard to breathe and focus at the same time and if he held his breath all he could focus on was the fact that he wasn't breathing. And when did breathing get so hard anyway?

He felt worse than when he was lying in a hospital bed with a heart that could barely beat anymore.

The slow climb up the few steps to the porch was a Herculean task, even with Celia's arm tight around his waist. She nudged the screen door open, then the oaken one and guided him to sit in the nearest chair. Dean slumped into the wood at an old, scarred, oak wood table. Celia quickly pulled his leather jacket free and grabbed a glass and filled it with water. She forced his hands to fold over it and then forced him to drink.

Dean coughed, choking painfully. The water wasn't even cold, it was luke warm.

"Dean, drink it, yer in a bad way." She forced his head back and the warm water down his throat.

Dean choked through three fourths of the glass before Celia relented and set the glass on the table. Celia carefully pulled his eyelid and brow back to look into his left green eye. She wasn't pleased by the glazed, dull film that cast over it, she looked in the other. It was the same, both pupils dilated.

"Damn." She muttered. She abruptly snatched a black cell phone off the counter top and flipped it open. She hit a speed dial button and settled the phone between her shoulder and ear.

"Matt? Yeah, it's Red." She hesitated while whoever it was on the other end spoke. "Not to well, Doc. I just picked up a couple of boys stranded on the road and they're in a bad way. Said they'd been out there four hours….with out water as far as I can tell….down at Crow's Point Crossroads….severely dehydrated, one's got second degree sunburn on his face, neck and arms…yeah…...the other's got the worst kind of heat stroke I've seen since that kid from Utah…...how soon?...Alright, as soon as possible, thanks Doc." She snapped the phone shut as the screen door crashed open.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked sharply.

"Easy Sammy, sit there." Celia assured motioning towards a chair she knew that Sam wouldn't take and focused on Dean. She forced the young man's head to focus back on her, having turned instinctively towards Sam's voice.

"Dean, it's Red, remember?" Dean blinked slowly, dulled and tired.

"What?" He rasped out, his voice caked dry.

"Red, from the crossroads." Celia spoke slowly and clearly, annunciating heavily. "Ya understand?"

Dean nodded.

"Alright, I need ya to listen to me, if I go to fast slow me down."

Dean looked at her through his haze. Why would he need to slow her down, she could talk as fast as she wanted and he was sure that he could keep up. _No,_ another part of his mind nudged and growled in his ear, at his pride, _you couldn't_.

Dean decided after a long thought that he was glad she was speaking slowly. He submitted to the idea that if she didn't she might as well have been speaking a different language.

He swallowed thickly and tried to lick his cracked lips and only nodded. His face pinched as pain flooded through his head.

"Alright, Dean ya are very sick-"

_Sick? What? _Dean's mind whirled, suddenly overloading. _No, I don't get sick. Sam gets sick, I don't. _

"Dean, look at me."

His eyes hazed and the world spun and he tried to focus on Celia. He locked his green eyes with her red ones.

_Why are her eyes red? Is this even a coherent thought? Damn…I am sick…_

"Dean, ya've got heat stroke, real bad. It's hurtin' ya and can hurt ya worse. I need ya to give me permission to help ya."

_Permission? Why…no Sam can take care of anything._

"Dean listen, ya are very sick, I need ya to tell me it's okay to help ya until I can get Doc out here. Listen Dean. Please, I need ya to say I can help ya." Celia pleaded gently, Sam could hear a fear deeply engrained in her voice and he couldn't figure where it came from. His own panic was peaking at the words 'sick' and 'heat stroke'.

"Heat stroke?" Sam was starting to feel dizzy himself. At Stanford a few students every year got heat stroke as summer rolled in. It put them in bed sure but the way that Celia was acting and talking about it set warning bells off that this was much worse than that.

"Hush, Sammy." Celia chided, "Sit down, now."

"Sam?" Dean muttered in a haze. Trying to watch his brother sink into the chair, worried brown eyes searching for coherency in green ones.

"Sam will be fine Dean, I need ya to let me help ya." Celia cupped Dean jaw and forced him to look at her.

Dean stared at her, familiarity exploding in his fogged mind. _Where the hell do I know you from?_

_**Don't worry about that right now! You're in trouble, man! Take the help!**_ His survival instinct was already overriding his pride and personality. He hated taking help from anyone and the lone wolf syndrome was a hard one to get passed.

_Why should I trust her?_ Pride argued, _I don't even know her._

_**Does it matter? Someone knows you're in trouble and they're trying to help you, don't be pig-headed now!**_ Survival snarled, enraged.

_Sam can take care of it._ Pride snapped.

_**Listen up, Dean-o, the coyote's got you. She knows this kind of monster, say yes, damnit!**_

_What are you talking about? What the hell do coyotes have anything to do with anything! _

_**Trust me on this! This girl is trying to help you, help Sam, you can trust her!**_

_What if you're wrong, you can't know for sure._

_**Dean, when have I ever driven you wrong? **_Survival pleaded, _**Just say yes, please. I know she can help you, say yes.**_

Dean's head lolled forward slightly, his eyelids drooping as he fought instinct with intelligence.

"Dean?"

"Yes…" He croaked out, giving the barest of nods. Celia let a sigh of relief escape her chest.

"Alright, Dean. Alright." She brushed his hair back, tracing her fingers around his ear. Dean leaned into her touch. It was soothing and dim memories were slowly trying to blossom back into his mind. Maybe they were of the time before this life, of his mother taking care of him during a fever. Or they were the roots of the familiarity that kept shoving at his mind.

"Sam." Celia's clipped tone and commanding matter made Sam straighten up instantly. "Like I said, best way that ya can help Dean is ya help me." She strode purposefully across the kitchen to the refrigerator and pulled it open.

"What can I do?" Sam asked instantly.

"Stay in that chair," She pulled out a carton of milk, a gallon of chilled water, a bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of thick green gel, she gathered the supplies and walked over to the table setting them all on the table top in front of him. "Take off yer shirt, rub a little of this on yer arms, shoulders, neck and face. Especially yer ears." She forced the green gel into his hands and strode to another cabinet, opening it and pulling out a large bottle of aspirin, "Take three of those and drink all of this while I take care of yer brother."

"How does that help Dean?' Sam asked confused, sure that there was no way he was going to get down a gallon of water, milk and Gatorade. He was sure that she was trying to keep him out of the way.

"'Cause it's helpin' yerself helps him. I know how big brothers think." Sam watched in confusion and mild surprise as Celia moved Dean's dead weight forward to pull the flannel off his shoulders then the tee shirt up over his head. .

"I'm fine." Sam said sharply, trying to get some of his spark back.

"Naw Sam, yer giddy, dehydrated and got a bad sunburn. Ya just rub that aloe on ya and drink. I'll take care of yer brother." Celia swiftly dispatched of Dean's boots and socks, Sam swallowed dryly as she unbuttoned Dean's jeans and unceremoniously tugged them off. Dean tried to shake himself alter but couldn't manage and only slumped lower. Sam bit back a protest at the stripping only because it was so unlike his brother to let an opportunity like this slide, even if he was sick. Dean was left, barely conscious in his boxers.

Celia didn't like the flush in Dean's skin or the heat radiating off it. She pulled one of his arms up across her shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging him up to unsteady feet.

'C'mon Dean, work with me." She coaxed and half walked, half dragged the older brother out of the kitchen and down a short hall. Sam started to stand but being aware that he was dehydrated and sunburned sent ripples of pain across his flesh and dizziness in his head. Sam could only watch forlornly as his brother was led out of his sight, even if it was for his better health. Sam slumped low in the chair and cracked the seal on the Gatorade and slugging down a much as he could manage with out choking. Right now Celia seemed to know what she was doing and Sam resigned to understanding they were at this woman's mercy.

Celia glanced over her shoulder, making sure that Sam was still in the kitchen and out of sight.

Her blood colored eyes paled, turning a bright reflective red. Assured the younger brother wasn't going to come after them she shifted Dean around and without even an extra breath of effort hefted the much heavier man into her arms bridal style.

Dean was to out of it to understand what had happened, as far as he knew he'd just gone numb. Effortlessly Celia carried Dean down the hall to the first floor bathroom. She leaned back on her heel and nudged the wood door open with her boot and slipped into the bathroom. The air was cooler in the room and the shock of it was enough to start Dean shivering.

"C'mon now." Celia muttered, there was no strain in her voice, "Don't ya dare start any kind of fit on me." She snorted a little and thanked the contractor some hundred years dead that the first floor bathroom was twice the size of the upstairs. Her knee was starting to ache a little at the extra pressure and she honestly didn't want to take Dean's weight up the stairs. She stepped carefully across the floor, still damp from a hurried shower that morning. Another thing she didn't want to do was slip and take Dean to the floor. As if the young man needed head trauma right then. She eased Dean back down to his feet, making sure that he was slightly steady but she still bore most of his weight.

Easing Dean down to sit on the edge of the tub she reached across and turned on the faucet. The water rushed out. Celia settled on the edge of the tub awkwardly and placed a hand firmly on Dean's stomach, estimating his body temperature.

"Alright…" She breathed, she hovered her hand over the faucet, narrowing her eyes slightly and breathing out. _"Mni."_ She said quietly, the flow of water tripled, rushing out and filling the tub rapidly in seconds. Celia sloped her hand down to the end of the tub and circling back up towards the faucet. The water swirled foaming slightly. Celia reached across and twisted the faucet off. The water swirled slowly, as if it was a small easy whirlpool. Celia shut her eyes, breathing heavily at the effort. She grit her teeth and listened to Dean's pounding heart, it was irregular, she concentrated on the temperature of his flushed skin and tried to drown out the sound of pounding of blood in his veins.

"Damnit, Dean. Slow that heart of yer's down. I can't have ya faintin' or havin' a seizure on me." She dipped her free hand into the water, it was ice cold. She shook her head. She knew the dangers of shock, sure Dean needed to be cooled down but people had died from aneurysms when someone, thinking they knew how to deal with heat stroke dumped the victim into ice water.

But Celia was a desert girl, born and raised. She knew heat stroke better than any doctor could have. If Dean even so much as contacted with water this cold, even drinking it, it would send him into an epileptic fit.

"_Peh-ta."_ She whispered to the water, her eyes flashing. The water instantly warmed, evening out to match Dean's current body temperature. As the water cooled it would cool his blood.

"Alright, Dean." She eased him down into the water. Dean gave a violent shiver and Celia hesitated, waiting to see what his body would do. When she was assured that he wasn't going to go into spasms she eased his frame completely into the water. The luke warm water flowed up over Dean's skin. His eyes flashed, clearing briefly before going dull again. He slumped into the water. Shivering, his muscles twitching involuntarily. His eyes slipped shut, his world was so hazed it wouldn't have made a difference.

"Dean, stay with me." Celia coaxed, bracing his head with a hand on the base of his skull. He forced his eyes open, looking at her dully. "Deep breath, Dean."

She smiled when his lungs filled obediently. She used her free hand to cover his mouth with the base of her palm and pinch his nose shut. Dean shut his eyes again as he felt Celia gently push him down under the water.

Dean felt the urge to take a deep breath but he'd already done that. A stillness, darkness enclosed around him. It was oddly calming under the water. Water has always been Dean's favorite element, the opposition to fire. Fire had taken Mary away from them and sent the Winchesters on the road to the only world they would ever really know. Water was different than that.

He was only aware of the slow curling flow of the water and Celia's steady hands. He could actually feel his heart rate slowing down. He could feel the hand at the base of his head moving, gently squeezing the taught and sore muscles lined along his vertebrae. Massaging carefully, soothing. Dean relaxed back into the touch.

Two things drifted weightlessly in his mind. His intelligence was warning him that this was dangerous , he was at this woman's mercy. It would be sickening easy for her to drown him. Not a hundred feet from his brother. Dean couldn't even be sure that he wasn't dead already, suffocated under water. It already felt like it was to long, like an eternity had gone by.

The other was a feeling of complete trust and safety. Safety wasn't in the Winchester vocabulary, Dean hadn't experienced it since he was four years old. But now, he trusted Celia's hands, trusted the water. His life was totally in her hands. And he felt safe with that.

Dean's hand felt like lead but he pulled it free of the water and lifted it, hesitation and then gently he settled his larger palm over Celia's hand. The one still firmly masking his mouth and pinching his nose, keeping the air, the life in his lungs. Dean settled his palm over her knuckles, the back of her hand and rested it there. He squeezed gently.

Out side of Dean's silent world Celia watched the clock on the wall, counting down thirty seconds. A safe bet for how long Dean could hold his breath. Five seconds in Dean relaxed completely, the strength gone completely out of him and if it weren't for the heart beat under her fingers she would have thought him dead. Ten seconds in Dean's hand lifted free of the water and settled over her hers, it took a lot of effort, the slight squeeze she felt made her stomach turn a little. But his hand stayed on top of hers. She sighed tiredly.

"Dean Winchester ya are a mess." She breathed quietly. "What's got ya so tied that ya don't even try to remember me? Ya know ya don't have to lie to me, right?" She asked the question with a little sadness in her voice. "What's go ya so spooked the coyote got ya that easy…maybe it's for the best. A fresh start is hard to come by for people like us."

She heaved a sigh, turning slightly when a soft mewing caught her ear. A large, long furred cat padded silently towards her, amber colored eyes standing out against its black and white fur. The cat's tail swished gently to the right. Celia looked back to the clock. He had a few more seconds.

She was tempted to pull him out of the water early but it was a bad idea interrupting Uktena while she worked. The water had a job to do and Celia needed to let it finish.

Thirty seconds, Celia breathed a sigh of relief and pushed up on Dean's neck to force him above the water. She met resistance. She smiled sadly.

"Sorry, Dean. Ya have to come back." She pulled up harder and forced Dean's head and shoulders above the water. The hand over hers reached out and instinctively braced against the tub side. Dean gasped, his eyes opening fully as he struck air. Celia pushed him back gently so he was braced against the porcelain and tile. Dean looked more awake and aware than he had for the last forty five minuets.

"Hey." She said gently brushing hair back and water off his face. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. "Feelin' better?"

"Yeah…a little…" He rasped, flinching at the pain in his throat.

"Well, don't let if fool ya, it'll ge worse before better. Ya've got a long road to walk still. At least yer coherent."

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly.

"Sam's fine. He's got a bad sunburn and I'm making sure he's getting' plenty of fluids. It'll be a few days before either of ya really recover."

"What happened?"

"I guess Kansans don't walk in the sun." Celia sighed, playing a light smile at him, "Ya got heat stroke, real bad, yer lucky honestly."

"Lucky?" Dean felt far from lucky, down to his boxers in a strange house, his brother hurt, at the mercy of a stranger and feeling like shit.

"Yeah, a few more hours like that would have killed ya, and Sam was on his way to the same fate. Ya Midwesterners don't spend too much time thinkin' 'bout how the heat can get to ya, huh?"

Dean only blinked slowly at her, he was still only at half speed and most of what she'd said had floated over his head.

"Alright, well listen, Doctor Mark Halen is makin' his way here as soon as he can to have a look at ya boys and see if ya really do need to go to the hospital. But it'll be 'bout two hours still, he's going into surgery as we speak. Now, I know ya don't want yer Impala out there on the strip so are ya and Sammy fine if I leave ya here alone? Ya won't drown and he won't do anythin' stupid?"

"I can't promise that." Dean muttered, trying to force a little sarcasm and joking tone into his voice, he failed miserably. Celia smiled kindly anyway.

"Yeah well, if ya want to wait I can sit with ya until Mark comes in but I can be sure I'd be back before he'd even sew his patient up."

"Go get her, please."

"Alright."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How are…you gonna pick her up?" Dean spoke slowly, his words felt thick in his throat.

"I have a flat bed and one hell of a truck, I can manage with a little help from Mickey Malone down the street. I'll take better care of her than I am ya and yer brother." She teased gently.

Dean smiled, feeling exceptionally tired, exhaustion creeping up on him. Celia reached up over his head and pulled down a towel. She folded and balled it, carefully she lifted his head and set the bundle behind his skull. Dean blinked slowly, finding he couldn't even smile a thanks. Celia petted his hair once, making sure that if he dozed off there was no chance of drowning she rose stiffly. Shaking out the locking up joints of her knees and ankles, she stretched slightly, Dean kept his eyes on her.

"Rocky, mind watchin' him for me?" She asked, reached down to scratch the cat's ears. It mewed quietly, drawing Dean's eyes. He hadn't even noticed the cat was there. The long hair deftly leaped up to toilet seat, then on top of the tank. The cat curled up with a steady view of Dean.

"Thanks, Rocky. I'll be back Dean, no doubt yer brother will be in to sit with ya soon." Celia assured. Dean managed a bare nod swallowed thickly as she slipped out the door.

Within five minuets Sam slid in. He didn't look well. His shirt was gone and his blotchy red skin was slick with the green tinted aloe gel that Celia had given him. The younger brother was grateful of the soothing cold on his burning skin. He slumped down to sit on the floor next to the tub, he was still trying to get the Gatorade all the way down and keep it down. Once assuring each other they were fine the brothers started to drift and a half an hour later the only one awake was the cat named Rocky.

* * *

**Hope y'all enjoyed. The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	4. Pink Lemonade

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Pink Lemonade**

"**Gossip is the art of saying nothing in a way that leaves practically nothing unsaid."**

**- Walter Winchell **

**…**

Celia glanced back as she swung the screen door shut and jogged purposefully across the yard to the round pen where Blackbird was waiting patiently and Strawbury was not. Celia snorted a little at the iffy job that Sam had done of relocking the pen gate, pulling her hat lower around her ears. She rolled her eyes and shoulders starting to untangle the chain that Sam had knotted around the bars instead of slipping into the catch dip. She didn't know the younger brother that well, but she'd heard countless stories about his intelligence and skill.

"Boy can shoot down a skin-walker at three hundred yards and gets a full-ride to Stanford but can't close a damn gate." She muttered and pulled the chain free and quickly caught the bridle reins on Strawbury and pulled him after her before he could break out into the yard. With a quiet snot Blackbird followed the uppity colt and Celia like an overlarge old dog. The cream horse and painted horse flung their head over the gate and nickered at Blackbird as the buckskin walked passed the pasture fence. Blackbird hesitated a step and nickered assuring to them before following into the shade of the barn.

The barn was wide and tall, almost as tall as the house itself. And several hundred yards long to boot. Warm desert air flowed in from sets of massive double, roll back doors on either end of the barn, cooled in the shade and flowed back out. The right side of the barn was a line of fifteen horse stalls, each big enough to house two full grown animals with plenty of room between, wooden and metal doors topped with sloped iron bars slid smoother than some doors did the house and made easy for horses to throw their heads out to look into the five foot wide aisle of hard packed earth. A mountain of square hay bales stacked nearly to the rafters on the left side sufficiently hiding may feral and tame cats and their growing litters. Large plastic drums were tightly lidded to keep varmints out of the different feeds and vitamin stores and pushed against the outward wall of a tack room. A room stocked with thousands of dollars worth of new and old saddlery, both show and pleasure, and the hitching collars and driving leathers. It was also stocked with large emergency and health kits, gallons of medicinal alcohols, oils and liquids and pounds of bandaging, pastes, pills and other drug substances that made some big city vets offices seem insufficient.

A large drag cart for work and a buggy for pleasure both stood in the back left of the barn dutifully covered with protective tarps and far in the back a third tarp covered a car shape completely and was weighted down with bricks. Celia always smiled when she walked into the barn, though there were more pressing matters she smiled anyway.

Celia swiftly knotted the lead rope on Strawbury's halter into the hitch ring of the colt's shared stall and slipped the bit and bridle off his head. She patted the colt and stood back while Blackbird walked around to stand next to his own stall. She walked around and knotted the lead for the buckskin and within a few second gracefully stripped the mustang of the dark leather saddle, blanket and gear. Celia hauled the tack to the feed and tack room in a corner of the massive barn and set the saddle back so the fleece could dry and hung the bridle and blanket up. She set her saddle bags and the rifle case up next to several sets of others and pulled her Winchester rifle free. She checked the gun briefly before setting it aside to put away later. With a practiced hand Celia grabbed a large plastic bucket and large soft sponge, took it out side to fill with cool water at an old hand pump at the near side water trough and dunked the sponge into the water with a little moisturizing soap made especially for horses. She scrubbed down the two animals, sufficiently cooling the colt's hot blood and rubbed them dry. Celia picked out their feet, checked their ears and joints and dosed each of them with a few sprays of fly and tick repellent. Celia unbuckled Blackbird's blue halter and shoved the stallion away from the row of stall doors with a large chunk of sugar. Celia caught Strawbury's halter, unsapped the lead and led the colt down the barn aisle and out the massive double doors with the bucket of bath water in the other hand, she dumped it over and led the colt over to the gate. Blackbird still following them without protest or lead.

"Back up now, Honeycatcher. Ya too Sanuye." Celia ordered.

The painted horse and cream immediately backed away from the pipe gate, Celia pulled the chain and swung the gate open. Blackbird nickered and trotted into the pasture and Celia held the colt back.

"Ya done good, Strawbury. Good boy." She patted the antsy colt's neck and slipped him a chunk of mineral sugar from her pocket. He snuffled in her hand, crunched it down and nickered before bolting out into the pasture with the rest of the herd. Immeadiately the painted horse and cream rushed to meet the colt and buckskin and their heads swung together in meeting, immediately starting up with rushed noises of knickers and whinnies. The colt pranced nervously at Blackbird's side, white flecked rump twitching and jerking in the sunlight glare.

"He'll be real sound one day." Celia said to herself, swinging the gate shut, slipping the chain over to lock. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number next door as she walked back around the barn to the shade of the far side. A massive white Chevrolet Silverado Crew Cab loomed into view. It was a newer truck, bought used for a year in 2005 and had plenty of meat on its bones to do what Celia needed it to, and it hadn't cost her much to get it in the first place. She dug in her pockets for the keys, yanked open the door and hauled herself up into the cab, sliding behind the wheel. Finally someone picked up on the other end as the engine roared into life.

"Sofi Malone? It's Red…yeah. Listen I need to borrow yer flatbed and yer eldest son."

**…**

"Take it easy on that chain Mickey." Celia ordered. It had taken twenty minuets of Mickey carefully steering and Celia pushing to get the Impala off the shoulder and back onto hard top. She tugged at the corner of her Stetson.

"Sure, Boss Red." The slip of a teenager sighed and tugged the chain a little to straighten it. The boy couldn't have been more than eighteen, ice pick thin and slump shouldered with a matted mess of black hair shading large dark eyes.

He wasn't much to look at but he was reliable and strong. And for an added bonus his family was staying a few days longer than the norm for a Tuscarora family on a holiday. Celia's Silverado rumbled, idling quietly, the massive breaks locked into place, the flat bed that Celia normally used for hauling round bales of hay, borrowed from Mickey Malone's family had it's emergency breaks locked on as well, the ramp pulled out and blocked. Celia wasn't taking any chances with the Impala.

"Poor baby." She soothed, patting the hood quietly.

"It's locked in Boss Red." Mickey said jovially. He like all other local kids loved calling her 'Boss Red'. It was some kind of joke, a mock that had caught on was common practice. There were few that still called Celia by her first name, most called her Red, and everyone that worked under her as volunteer or otherwise she was 'Boss', there would be a time in the near future that there was a whole generation running the town that simply knew her as 'Boss Red' and all other nicknames and tags lost in hometown 'antiquity'. The local kids loved her and it was one of their ideals to be able to help Celia when she called. It was always something to talk about at school the next time there was class.

"Good boy, Mick." Celia said and she walked around the Impala, checking to make sure Mickey, in his overly excited state hadn't short changed the chain, which would easily rip the axle clean out from under the old muscle car and Dean would shoot her on sight for it. Bending low she looked under the Impala's belly and growled at the mangled fuel line. It was going to be hard to get one to fit the old car but she knew people.

Alamo kept his jaws wrapped tightly around the chunk of broken femur bone. He ground his teeth into it and muffled barks, his tail wagging slowly. Celia rose, flinching at the stiffness in her knee.

"Alright Mickey, crank her up." Celia braced her hands on the trunk.

"Yes, ma'am." Mickey flipped the catch bar and the chain started to crank up and coil back into place. Celia gave a slight pant and started to push. The Impala rolled forward lifelessly and Celia was somewhat glad that Dean wasn't there to see how completely dead the old car seemed. With a small grunt of effort the Impala rolled onto the ramp and with some gentle but firm nudging up onto the flat bed.

"Shut her off, Mick."

"Yes, Boss Red." The chain crank died, leaving only the rumbling Silverado engine in tune. Celia sighed and personally chained down the axels and ties to the flat bed. Once she was sure the Impala was safe Celia patted Mickey on the back lightly.

"Good job, son. I'll buy a soft serve on the way back." She pulled the emergency breaks on the flatbed, ready to roll.

"Thanks, Boss Red!" Mickey bubbled. Celia rolled her eyes and shoved the boy towards the passenger side of the truck. Most of the older teenage boys had a healthy crush on Celia. She was one of the few girls that stuck in around town instead of hitting the road running as soon as she turned eighteen. She liked football and rough sport, could handle horses, cars and people better than most and stood apart considering intelligence and common sense. They were all head over heels for her and those that weren't pegged her instantly for gay.

Being called out to help and getting an ice cream for a reward was the epitome of all the teens dreams and a lot of green eyes were going to be throw in Mickey's direction for at least a week once school was back in.

Celia whistled and pulled open the cab door for the Alamo. The elderly collie woofed and wagged his tail, trotting over and standing patiently while Celia lifted him up into the back seat of the cab, shut the door, climbed in and shut her door.

The dog slumped down into the back seat and stretched out.

"Don't get to comfortable, Alamo. We're pickin' up Valentine and Buckshot as we go." Celia said over her shoulder and set the truck into drive and started down the road. The old dog groaned quietly and shut his eyes tiredly. Celia smiled sadly.

Alamo was a collie, and fifteen. That itself was old for a collie and impressive for the breed. His healthy eighty pounds had started to dwindle as sixteen creeped up on him and some of the shine in his coat was going, though the blue merle was still the best that anyone had seen in a dog for a while. He was yellow in the tooth, dull in the eyes, his joints and muscles failing him that he couldn't even jump into the truck any more and couldn't do his job as well as he used to. Maybe once a week on the range and after that he was exhausted. Alamo had done his duty by sitting protectively at the Impala's side for the last hour and a half and now he got to relax.

It was a lump in Celia's chest knowing that the old dog basically retired and not to far off from being buried in the pasture next to several horses, a few cats and oddly a Gila monster.

Feeling the lump tighten she reached back and scratched the dog between his ears, but the old animal had fallen into a deep sleep, the bone still locked between his jaws. The truck ate the four miles to town in a few minuets. Mickey bounced excitedly in the passenger seat, he was one of few to enjoy the view. It wasn't that Celia was overly protective of her truck, just not many people got to ride in it in general.

He reached across and flipped on the radio, dancing across the sound waves to a rock station blaring punk rock. The teen bobbed his head and sang off tune with the screamo band.

Celia looked at the teen like he'd lost his mind and was having a fit. She reached across and shut the radio off all together.

"C'mon man!" Mickey whined.

Celia cocked her head, raised and eye brow and narrowed her eyes. "What was that Mickey Malone?" He tone was sharp and to the point. Mickey wilted, looking a little afraid.

"Nothin', ma'am."

"That's what I thought." Celia nodded, still eyeing the boy and reached over to turn the radio back on, turn the volume low and flipped to a country station.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Rules boy, driver decides music and shotgun locks his jaw, got it?"

Mickey kept his mouth shut and nodded.

"Good boy." Celia turned in to park in front a general store names Rosa's General. She shut off the engine and slid out, Mickey doing the same.

"Red!" Celia hesitated and turned as a young man in a State Trooper's uniform trotted towards her.

"Mickey, go on in and get yer ice cream, tell Millie I'll be there in a second."

"Alright, Boss Red." Mickey bounded up the steps and across the veranda into the shop with a tinkling of bells a brief bark of noise of Mickey being hollered at as he walked in the door drifted into the street before the door swung shut again.

The Trooper jogged across the main road from his car, the brown shirt sticking to him with sweat. He slowed and whistled, eyeing the Impala appreciatively.

"Nice car, ya pickin' up where yer dad left off?" The Trooper asked, smiling at himself in the drivers side door of the Impala after whipping away dust.

"Naw, Justin. It's not mine."

"Belongs to them boys ya came ridin' in with a bit a go then, huh?" Justin the Trooper asked and squared his stance, reaching out to take Celia's hand. She took it and smiled lightly. She and Justin had both graduated from Tuscarora Highschool in the same year. He was a few years older than her, starting to hit his late twenties while she was on the fresh end of twenty four. She's spooked all her first, second and third grade teachers with her boredom and intelligence and out of pure fear for her to suddenly go destructive on them they promoted her to the fourth grade when she was seven.

"Yeah." Celia said idly, "What can I do for ya Justin?"

Justin the Trooper sighed and smiled at her, "Ya know that beauty shop is just buzzin' and they brought out the pink stuff, Red."

"Oh Lord, the pink lemonade?" Celia paled and rubbed her face. Pink lemonade was reserved for only the juiciest gossip and maybe saw the light of day when there was a divorce, if some one was in jail, someone cheated on someone else or someone came back after they left town. Everyone dies famous in a small town and the old gossiping birds never left it, even if it was a holiday weekend. "Please no." Celia begged the powers that be.

"Three gallons so far, Red. "

"_**THREE!?!" **_

"Ain't helpin' yer case haulin' this car either. They asked me to get some more from yer momma's shop." Justin the Trooper teased, smiling down at the much smaller woman.

"Oh thank the gods Rosa, Eli and Imogene aren't in town, I'd never hear the end of it." Celia whined, grinding her palms into her eye sockets.

"Millie's watchin' the shop?" Justin the Trooper asked his face lighting up and flushing with excitement as he immediately tried to look around Celia into the general store and catch a glimpse of the pretty blonde.

"Justin focus!" Celia snapped her fingers in front of the dazed Trooper's face.

"What?" He asked distractedly.

"All of y'all are hopeless and useless as a blind hound dog in the dark!" Celia barked, embarrassment and frustration getting the better of her in a hurry. To be the subject of pink lemonade most certainly wasn't a highlight in life. "Cain't y'all find somethin' better to do then sit 'round and flap her gums 'bout a body when they're tryin' to help someone!?" She turned on her heel and marched towards the store front door. Justin the Trooper bounded up after her, his eyes lit up and pulling off his hat to try and smooth his brown hair down.

Celia stormed into the store and was met with booming barks and shouts from within as natives drilled Mickey.

Slightly relieved by the interception of the barking Celia turned all her attention on the two dogs scrambling at her legs. She knelt down, scratching their ears and under their chins.

Two massive German Shepherd dogs, both males and each weighing an easy ninety-five pounds. The smaller of the two was white, bright blue eyes and a pink nose, an albino pup. The other was caramel russet brown, dark brown eyes and a black saddle marking on his back, haunches and tail, but the black didn't flow up his face, coming to a halt half way up the back of his neck. They each wore thick leather collars with names carved into the leather in large letters and tags clinked together from steel rings near the buckles.

"Hey dogs." Celia sighed, glad to have a place to hide her face in the caramel colored dog's throat while the white licked the side of her face excitedly.

"Red."

It was said with such finality and calm that it might as well have been a death sentence. She sighed into the caramel dog's throat and rose to her full height. The room was completely silent and looking at her expectantly.

The outside of the building told no lies as the store looked like a grocery and ice cream parlor from the late forties. A long counter of polished black marble, a line of round topped stools, the cushion starting to wear away again and in need of a replacement soon. Hard wood and stone floors scratched from decades of use, little marble top tables with four hard back chairs each and a pool table set off near the large window, the shadow of the words printed on the glass casting onto the green felt. Behind the counter a set of shelves that spanned the whole wall, from floor to ceiling packed with supplies.

Massive wooden barrels stood full of beans, cracked corn, seeds, peanuts, fruits and vegetables, an old ice chest five feet long, two feet wide and three feet deep, cooled fresh milk, eggs and other perishables. Forty pound sacks of flour, sugar, yeast, wheat grind, and dog food were stacked in neat rows. There was a shelf of common medicines, trinkets and toys for younger kids and plenty of glass jars of candies and chocolates.

Rosa General was the store to get a beer, take a Saturday night date after a movie at the Lucky Star Drive- In twenty miles away, kids hung out on the porch, old men played checkers, old women gossiped, young men played pool and had one to many. People had laughed, cried, lived, loved and died in that little shop for the better part of sixty years. The heart of the town of Tuscarora and it stood now ready for the next chapter to be written into the elderly tiled and wooden floors.

Under the lazily turning ceiling fans, and the light of noonday Nevada sun sat the majority of the sensible citizens left in the town, including the town priest, on a holiday weekend sat waiting, sweating, still and silent.

There was anticipation, question, caution, speculation and above all else whole hearted denial.

"What the hell are all y'all lookin' at?" Celia snorted and marched purposefully over to where Justin the Trooper was leaning across the marble top counter to smile shyly at the pretty blonde with bright blue eyes and freckles spattered all across her face. She was smiling back at him, but her eyes flashing between Celia, Justin the Trooper and Mickey who was cautiously spooned scoops of chocolate drizzled ice cream into his mouth.

"Millie Lynch, get me two vanilla milkshakes and one strawberry one, large please. I got Mickey's, too. Mick go get me some of that sports drink stuff from the cooler, green and purple, I think." Celia said defiantly to the blonde, pulled a crumpled twenty dollar bill from her pocket and put it down on the counter. She could feel eyes burrowing into her shoulders and stuck to her pride and refused to acknowledge any of them.

"Sure thing, Red." Millie's smiled never faltered, she dusted her hands on her white apron. The perky blonde happily slipped the bill off the counter and started making the three milkshakes. Including chopping fresh strawberries for the milkshake.

Mickey slipped off his stool and trotted over to the cooler, he rummaged around and came up with a green and purple Gatorade.

"Three each Mick." Celia ordered.

"Yes ma'am." Mickey gathered the bottles and carried them awkwardly back to sit on the counter, then returned to his sundae. Millie quickly putting the six drinks into a paper bag.

"How'd the boy's do for ya?" Celia continued to Millie, keeping her voice light under the scrutiny of eye borrowing into her back for answers.

"Oh just fine, wonder why people in the city never figured on dogs for babysitters in stead of people. Ya can trust a dog better then some of them girls that ya see on the television shakin' children on the 'nanny cams'."

"Mind ya Millie they only show the worst on television anymore." Justin the Trooper said sheepishly, happily taking a sip from a cola.

"Yeah, well I'd trust those two dogs faster then some of those air head girls up at the school anyway. Save that white one." She pointed at the white shepherd.

"What, Valentine?" Celia asked glancing down at the dog sitting quietly at her knee.

"Yes, that one. He's got a head full of trouble and enough charm to get away with it." Millie said in mock scorn to the dog.

The dog cocked his ears back briefly before throwing them forward to give himself a picture perfect profile, he dropped his chin into his chest to look up and out, his bright blue eyes when soft and sparkled, a grin crossed the dog's face that had he been human would have had every girl in town swooning and put Dean Winchester himself to pitiful shame. It was still quiet a potent smile as he instantly made Millie smiled and reach into a jar to toss the dog a large chunk of jerked beef.

"He's a devil in white fur, I'll tell ya, Red." Millie continued while the white dog chewed loudly but was able to keep him 'smile'. The caramel dog cocked his ears back and snorted in scorn for the behavior of the smaller and lighter dog.

"Speakin' of devils."

Celia stiffened at the words and the voice that said them. Everyone in the room stiffened and everyone could hear the implication and terse hate behind the words. They all knew what it meant.

"Watch what ya say, Ezekiel Lynch." The priest growled warningly. His cinnamon colored hair and chocolate eyes narrowed dangerously. He straightened his broad shoulders, he was built more like a football player then a mad of God. If it weren't for the fitting reverend's collar over the black polo shirt he would have been mistaken for just that. Scars in his tanned skin from a rough childhood. A wide leather belt looped through his dark washed jeans and black boots. Bill Cormac looked like he belonged on a bull in a rodeo more than on a dais with a Bible.

"Don't worry about it Father Cormac. There somethin' I can help ya with, Zeke?" Celia spat out, her teeth grinding together. Both shepherds growled low in their throats. Cormac backed down but hovered ready to act.

"I can think of a few things Red." Zeke, a heavy boned and wide shouldered man about her age rose from his place on a cushioned stool. Heavy leather boots cracked quietly on the wood floor. Zeke's medium length, dirt blonde hair shaded dark blue eyes. Celia bristled as he languidly stepped closer to Celia. The majority of the people sitting around tensed for a possible fight.

It was a rare day that Celia Northwind and Ezekiel Lynch spent more than six minuets in a room without one of them storming out, usually Celia being the bigger man, or they fell to a bloody fist fight, one that Zeke usually ended in scrambling away from on the worse end as everyone who was anyone in town knew that Celia could kick anyone in town's ass and triple that worse if she really wanted to hurt you. Zeke had a few scars left over from their childhood scraps.

No one person could be loved by everyone, no matter how small the town and how sweet the personality, and Celia had her fair share of glares and insults to take and deal out towards choice fellow citizens of Tuscarora, but Zeke was a special case.

No one knew why Zeke had held a grudge against Celia for the better part of twenty years, but that bad blood was always worth pink lemonade.

"Zeke." Millie said warningly, her eyes narrowed at her younger brother threateningly while she pulled out milk and malt mix, sugar and other ingredients. "No trouble, ya hear me."

Zeke gave a quirked eyebrow and a mocking snort. "Nothin' of it Millie, just wonderin' why Ol' Red here don't enlighten us to what she's up to with a couple of strays off the Crossroads."

Celia bristled. Three instincts snapped into place: humiliate Ezekiel Lynch without physically laying him out, keep her pride intact, and defend and protect the Winchester brothers at any and all costs. If she played her cards right she could get Zeke arrested for the night, then maybe the attention would lighten up on the Winchesters until the good doctor spilled his guts to Mrs. Halen, who was reputably one of the gabbiest Birds in the beauty shop.

"'Strays' Zeke?" Celia spat coldly, her eyes darkening to the cold red of dried blood. "Ya make 'em sound like mangy dogs in the pound. How did ya know they came from the Crossroads? Ya start followin' me around?" The malice in her voice made everyone in the room shiver. Except for Zeke, he was used to it.

Zeke snorted and crossed his arms. "Rolled passed and saw that car ya got chained down sittin' there. I figure it's theirs."

"Yeah, and we sure as hell take yer intelligence at it's word." Celia snorted back. Zeke's blue eyes darkened mischievously.

"And yer so much smarter, Red? Ya drug a couple of strangers off the road, and I take it, left 'em alone in yer home. When it comes to being trustin' ya sure as hell are the pick of the litter, ya'd put a rattler in yer pocket if he said he was cold." Zeke growled.

Celia licked her lips. "Ezekiel, don't confuse trust with compassion. I know it's hard, seein' as ya express neither of those."

Zeke's eyes flashed dangerously before cooling again. It was a serious insult in Tuscarora to be accused of lacking in any kind of emotion.

"What ya mean 'compassion', Red?" Justin the Trooper cut in, hoping to draw information and diffuse the situation. "There somethin' wrong with those boys?"

Celia hesitated, debating briefly. It was pride over protection. The smirk on Zeke's face got the better of her, and she reasoned quickly that giving the town enough information on the situation they'd mellow and speculation could be kept to a minimum. "They were out there for a while. Dehydrated, one's sunburned and the other's got heat stroke." Celia said coldly.

She almost nodded approvingly at the round of tight hisses and looks of sympathy. Everyone had been on the losing end of those ailments before.

"Ya takin' care of 'em?" Millie asked, her motherly nature coming out as she measured ingredients.

"Doin' my best 'til Halen gets out of surgery." Celia smiled, she shot Zeke a cocky grin. His teeth were grit menacingly at the nods of approval and smiles as worry faded sharply.

"Ya are a saint, Red." Father Cormac sighed, he wasn't a born native of Tuscarora, not even of Nevada. He knew the pains of heat stroke all to well and considered anyone who went out of their way to alleviate that sort of suffering an angel from God.

"Well, those boys are in a better place then the rest of us ever would be." Millie smiled brightly, dumping the ingredients for the strawberry shake into a blender, then starting on stripping vanilla beans for the other two shakes. "They'll be up on their feet faster than a newborn colt. Then ya can bring 'em round." Millie dumped the ingredients into the second blender and flicked it on with a whir.

Celia shrugged without speaking and making no promises, she seemed calm and at ease, but her hackles were raised waiting for Zeke to speak again.

It came and it sent shivers and a blinding rage across her eyes. So much she was sure that she was ready to lunge at him then and there, probably get herself arrested instead.

"Yeah, Red, bring 'em 'round and we'll all have a real good look at 'em." Zeke hissed.

Celia tensed too tightly at that, Justin the Trooper actually rested a hand on her shoulder, preparing to hold her back.

"Maybe they still need a good look at ya in turn. Ya taken yer hat off yet?" Zeke bit out, he was laughing low in his hiss. He flicked the brim of her Stetson.

Celia did lunge at him then.

"Red!" Justin the Trooper yanked back on Celia's shoulder and practically into his chest, restraining her from killing Zeke. "That's enough Zeke!" The officer spat. The rest of the room was on its feet, ready to act. Mickey crouched close to the marble counter top, terrified at being caught in the crossfire.

Zeke stood with his arms flung out and fisted, clear stance to goad a fight. Both shepherds had their ears thrown back and teeth bared, ready to explode into reaction.

"Zeke! Get out here!" Millie snapped, jabbing a finger towards the store front door.

"Millie-" Zeke started. Justin the Trooper cut her off.

"Zeke ya are lookin' for a fight, get movin' for I let y'all brawl!" Justin the Trooper snarled, his normally friendly and bright hazel eyes dark and dangerous. "Or I'll arrest ya for disturbin' the peace!"

Zeke stood defiant.

"Out Zeke." Father Cormac ordered.

Zeke snarled and stalked out of the store. No one relaxed until he'd crossed the street, no doubt on his way to the beauty shop to plant some character crippling rumors about Celia there.

Celia yanked out of Justin the Trooper's grip and the room was silent, while Millie worriedly poured the three milkshakes into large, plastic cups and fitted tops over them. She slipped the three drinks into a small carry box and dumped in straws and a few plastic spoons. Celia snatched the box and paper bag and started for the door.

"Red-"

"I like wearin' my hat and I have a bad case of hair today." Celia spat deadly before slipped out to the Silverado, the two shepherds rushing to catch up.

The shocked silence that followed was interrupted with a sigh from Millie. "She forgot her change."

"Millie girl, ya know she don't want it." An older, thick set man rumbled. His skin was wrinkled and tanned tawny, mottled with scars and a few liver spots. He adjusted the large belt buckle at his jeans and tugged on his flannel and tee shirt. He was dark eyed and wise in a way and to look at reminded outsiders of a great grizzled old wolf.

"Why ya say that Mr. Carson?" Mickey asked quietly. He couldn't understand why anyone would let up on their change.

"She never wants her change, keep it for that baby of yers, Millie." John Carson reached across and gently patted Millie's hand. "A tip. She's upset, that's all."

"Maybe we should-"

"Naw Millie." Carson rubbed at his jowls, scrubbing the grey peppered goatee. "That's just ol' Nathaniel Greer comin' out in her. And just like him ya gotta let her be."

"She was supposed to be his daughter, I'll tell ya." Father Cormac sighed with a sad shake of his head. "To bad they weren't blood."

"They were stronger than blood, Billy. She adored that man. After he passed it went south for her. It's just catchin' her that's all." Carson rumbled.

"She's ashamed." Father Cormac sighed, again shaking his head sadly. "Been ashamed since the day he fell."

The group sat in silence that was suddenly interrupted by a long droning wail of the Silverado still parked outside the shop. They all jumped and looked around at the truck. Celia had firmly slammed her face into the steering wheel and kept it there.

"Justin, will ya give me a ride home?" Mickey asked quietly. "We are tryin' to leave for the holiday tonight."

"Sure Mick." Justin the Trooper assured with a ruffle of the teen's hair.

**…**

Celia stormed out of the store and crashed down the steps to the earth. She yanked open the Silverado door viciously and before she could climb in the two dogs took advantage. Valentine's hurled his frame up from the earth into the front seat, scrambled across to sit dutifully in the passenger seat. Buckshot hurled his heavier bulk up after the white shepherd and awkwardly scrambled into the back seat to sit with Alamo. The old collie snorted and cocked his ears back but didn't protest. Celia climbed into the cab, quickly setting the cardboard carton and bag on the cab floor below Valentine and snapped her door shut. There was a hesitant second of silence before she slammed her fists into the dashboard with a snarl of rage. She slumped back against the seat. Celia scrubbed her face and snarled several curses under her breath. She ignored the quiet whines from all three dogs.

"Mickey'll get a ride from Justin." She muttered to herself. "Goddamnit!" She slammed her fists and face into the steering wheel, sending out a blast of noise that made all the dogs jump and whine nervously. The horn blared for a few long seconds before she slumped back into her seat again.

Valentine whined loudly. He was the cuddler and lover of the three dogs. He wiggled closer, his ears back and begging her quietly to touch him.

With a sigh Celia rubbed the shepherd between the ears. "I'm alright, baby. Need to get back to the boys." She reached back to pet the other two dogs assuringly before cranking the engine to life, carefully backing out into the road and continuing towards the Greer family home. The Impala in tow.

**…**

Celia parked the Silverado in shade to assure the Impala would come off the flatbed into the lee of the house and protected from severe weather. But it would take two people, maybe three to get the Chevy down and Celia left it securely chained for now. She hefted up the carton with the three milkshakes and the bag of Gatorade, kicked open her door and slid out. The ride had cooled her blood enough to settle her thoughts and relax. The three dogs scrambled down from the truck. Alamo dropping to the ground with a pained grunt and a wobble. The older dog walked slowly behind the younger two. Valentine frolicking madly up the steps, Buckshot a sensible and steady trot that conserved energy and Alamo's slow stiff walk. Celia shut the door and climbed the steps up after Alamo and pulled the screen door open. The three dogs trotted into the kitchen and fell on a massive bowl of cool water, lapping loudly. Celia crossed to put the three milkshakes into the freezer and the Gatorade into the fridge. She sighed, looking at the clothes she'd stripped from Dean scattered on the floor and table top. Not to mention Sam's sweat through tee shirt. She gathered the clothes and walked to the mud room adjacent the kitchen to dump them into the washing machine. Buckshot and Alamo slunk under the kitchen table and settled themselves to nap. Valentine was sniffing wildly at the chairs that Sam and Dean had sat in, digging at Dean's leather jacket draped over the back of a chair. Buckshot and Alamo had each taken a few sniffs but not much more.

Celia was pouring detergent into the washer when there was a distinct splash of water from the first floor bathroom. Celia froze, tense. Valentine's head yanked up, ears cocked fully forward and he was in a picture perfect stance, all attention locked on the sound.

"Shit." Celia whispered and lunged for the white shepherd, tripping and crashing into the far counter as Valentine had already taken off at a sprint towards the sound.

Valentine was a strange dog in more than one way. He was albino and never sunburned, had blue eyes, that odd charming 'smile' and devil of a temperament.

And he absolutely adored baths.

Valentine let out a giddy whine of euphoria and crashed out of the kitchen, around the stairs and sprinting down the hall, Celia desperately trying to catch him but far behind. Valentine tore through the bathroom door, it swung back and slammed into the wall with a sickening bang. The black and white cat, Rocky lunged up, spitting and rushed to get away out the door. Both Winchesters exploded from sleep. Sam lurched up, cracking his head against the title with a yelp. Dean's bleary eyes snapped open. Valentine made an almighty and joyous leap right into the tub of cooling water and on top of Dean. The man let out a wet gasp of pain as ninety three pounds slammed down onto his chest and stomach mercilessly. Valentine took no notice of the occupant and paddled joyously, snapping massive white jaws at his own splashes and slopping water all over the floor.

"VALENTINE!" Celia roared and lunged across the room. She grabbed the white dog around the scruff of his neck and leather collar. She physically yanked the startled and yelping dog out of the water and off of Dean. Soaking wet and yelping in astonishment Valentine's claws scrapped uselessly on the wet title, successfully drenching Sam and Celia as he tried to escape. Celia roughly shoved the dog towards the door.

"Out! Git! Damn fool dog!" Celia snarled after him. Valentine tucked his tail and tore away. Panting and worried Celia rushed to crouch at the tub side, quickly grabbing Dean's hand with one of her own and using the other to brace the side of Dean's head and neck, forcing him to look at her. Dean groaned pitifully, trying to twist onto his side in the water. Instinct trying to put him into a fetal position even though the immediate onslaught of overly excited German shepherd had passed. Dean coughed thickly. The air rushing painfully over his raw throat.

"Dean!" Sam choked, his head still throbbing from contact with the wall.

"Dean, look at me. Ya alright? C'mon. Damn fool dog."

Dean shivered violently once and slumped back into the water, exhausted and unable to support himself. Celia shifted, strained her legs and back to keep his head and shoulders above water.

"Dean?" She asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The pressure was returned, weakly but still there. He looked at her through glassy eyes, shivered again and swallowed thickly.

"Shit…" Dean managed. That made Sam relax, the much taller man rubbing his hands through his hair and rubbing at his temples. Sam actually gave a small pained laugh before it died in his throat. Both brothers inwardly admitted that the last forty five seconds were actually the scariest moments of their lives.

Caused by a German shepherd that had only wanted to enjoy a bath.

"Alright." Celia sighed, slightly assured. Now that she could concentrate she noticed with approval that Dean had finally broken into a fever. She had hoped that his blood would go hot instead of cold, his fluxing temperature before the bath was more dangerous than to hot or to cold. A fever, though not the best thing in the world was something that she could work down from. She wasn't pleased that it was as high a fever as it was. Her sensitive skin and practice with a younger sister and older brother Celia estimated a steady 104 temperature, and she was rarely wrong. So long as it didn't climb or start fluxing again Dean was on his way to recovery.

"Alright, sit on up." She pulled him up and forward. Dean flinched painfully, gasping. Red welts were already starting to rise on the pale flesh of his stomach. "He scratched ya up pretty bad Dean." Celia snarled, she looked ready to go find Valentine and rip into the dog's hide but kept herself at Dean's side.

Dean only grunted and flinched as the stinging pain got to him. His water drenched skin struck the air of the bathroom and he started shivering violently.

"Dean?!" Sam didn't like the way his brother twitched and gasped as shivers ran down his spine.

"He's just getting' chilled Sammy." Celia assured. "C'mon Dean, gotta get ya out of that water." She hauled, up on Dean's hand and wrapped an arm around his waist to support him.

"What-"

"Sammy, go to the hall closet and get a couple of towels and a couple of blankets, alright?" Celia ordered. She knew this much about Sam Winchester, if he had busy hands he didn't panic.

Sam nodded and turned to leave.

"It's the door just there on the left." Celia called after him. She helped Dean sit on the edge of the tub. She pulled back his eyelid and brow to look in his eye again. The green orb was still glassy, the life she'd hoped would be there was drowning in a dull film. She checked the other and sighed.

Sam came back in a rush, his arms piled with towels and two blankets thrown over his shoulder.

"Thanks Sam." Celia took a fluffy yellow towel from him and draped it around Dean's shoulders, starting to rub his biceps through the fabric.

"Sammy, I brought back some sports drink stuff, get yerself on and one for Dean." Celia commanded gently. Sam was gone in a heart beat, rushing into the kitchen to get the sports drinks. He glanced around breifely then pulled open the fridge door. He hesitated, spotted the brown bag and pulled it out. He set it on the table and looked in. He stopped for a second.

Purple and green.

Sam knew that Dean liked the purple the best and swiftly grabbed one. Then he went for a green, he personally couldn't stomach any other color. Probably why it had been so hard to keep the orange one down earlier. It didn't register to Sam that the colors had been chosen on purpose.

Sam jogged back to the bathroom.

Celia was gingerly patting dry Dean stomach while the water gurgled and drained from the tub. Dean's eye were shut tight and his teeth grit.

"Damn dog." Sam heard as he passed into the room. This was serious. Dean never idly took mothering like this, not from a doctor, not from Sam and the younger brother couldn't remember John ever getting the chance either, much less from a stranger.

Sam cracked the seal on the purple Gatorade and crouched next to Celia and his brother, handing Celia the Gatorade.

"Thanks Sammy." Celia sighed and Dean huffed out at the same time. Sam smiled as Celia folded Dean's hands around the plastic bottle and helped him drink it, though a little of Dean's spunk was coming back. His eyes were still dull and his shoulders still slumped but he was slowly starting to be resistant. He pulled away from the Gatorade. Celia sighed.

"Dean, ya got heat stroke and yer still dehydrated. Ya gotta get somethin' in yer system or the doc will put ya on an i.v. faster than a rattler can bite." Celia growled.

A spark of fear flashed in Dean's eyes. He hated HATED i.v.s. Sam actually narrowed his eyes at his own phantom pains in his arm. Dean was more receptive then, holding the bottle on his own and slowly downing the drink.

Sam cracked the seal on his own and gluped it down, briefly enjoying the liquid.

"Purple." Dean muttered tiredly.

"Yeah, my favorite." Celia lied, it was hard for her to keep from wincing watching them drink the liquid. She hated the stuff with a passion and only drank it when she was severely dehydrated. There was no lying about the electrolytes and vitamins in the stuff. It put ya right back on track, way better than water. And like all well practiced desert families the Greers always kept a small stock of the stuff just in case.

Dean smiled weakly.

"Sammy, ya boys got anythin' dry to wear? If not I figure ya can fit my brother, he's about yer height." Celia said absently.

"In the Impala." Sam shrugged. "On the road."

"Naw, it's out on the flatbed in the drive. Grab some clothes for the both of ya. And yer brother's gonna need boxers."

Dean and Sam both tensed up, ducking their heads and blushing slightly. Celia looked between them, not comprehending for a second, then rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, get movin'." Celia snarked and gave Sam a gentle nudge towards the door. She turned back to drying Dean off.

The older brother's breathing was evening out and his shivering starting to subside. He gave his head a shake to clear it and winced at the pain in his skull.

"Sam, the aloe too!" Celia called in an after thought.

"Alright Red!' Sam called back from out of sight. Dean breathed out heavily. It didn't assure her that his breathing was still shallow and congested.

"Starting to clear up?" She absently asked Dean.

"Wh…yeah…I just…don't feel good." Dean muttered quietly. Celia drooped. It wasn't in Dean's nature to admit something like that. Not the Dean she knew.

"Yer not gonna for a while." Celia told him truthfully. Dean grunted and choked down the Gatorade. She deemed him dry enough, feeling a slight chill to his skin and the heat layered underneath.

"Alright." Dena muttered and tried to stand, nearly slipping on the drenched floor. Celia quickly caught him and eased his frame back down to the edge of the tub.

"Whoa those ponies, Dean. Yer still in a state." Celia sighed and took the Gatorade from his hands before he dropped it. She set it on the toilet tank and pushed the drenched rug out of the way and draped a light green fleece blanket around Dean's shivering frame.

"Alright, together now, Dean." Celia said, draping one of his arms across her shoulders and her arm around his waist. Dean heaved with a pained gasp and groan and Celia hauled up on his weight.

Shakily and unsteady Dean stood on his own feet and Celia guided him away from the drenched bathroom.

Dean's walk was stiff and pained and as he moved the chill died from his skin and a fever struck full blown. He nearly collapsed. A hand and arm flung out to catch support on the wall, trying to dig his nails into the plaster. Celia hesitated, waiting for Dean's panting to subside and the pinched pain in his face to fade. When his eyes opened the green was glazed over in pain, any clarity that had returned only minuets before drowning again. Celia knew to fact that his vision was swimming and he probably couldn't process any information at all. When Dean took a shaky step in the direction Celia wanted she helped him shuffle the rest of the way down the hall and nudged open the right hand door. A first floor quest bedroom. A king sized bed of aged and highly polished wood stood pushed under a large window and fully made with several pillows and a thick patchwork quilt. Rays of gold sun fell across the room giving it plenty of light. Celia eased Dean around and down on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him and waited for the panting and low moans to subside. Dean hunched forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, his knuckles white from his grip, teeth grit and hissing in pain.

"Dean?" The startled voice of Sam drew Dean back for a minuet.

"Here Sammy," he rasped tiredly.

"Sam." Celia called supportively. She watched the panic flood from Sam's face when he passed through the door and saw his brother looking out at him. Sam slipped in the door with a bundle for clothes in his arms. He swiftly separated jeans, tee shirt and fresh boxers for Dean, a set of jeans for himself over his shoulders. Celia slipped out to grab the Gatorade and came back to set in on the side table of the bed.

"Ya got the aloe?" She asked Sam. He looked confused then reached into the back pocket of his soaked jeans. He handed her the green gel filled bottle.

"Alright Dean, sit back, then we'll leave ya alone." Celia assured. Dean sighed and submitted. He slumped back and braced on his palms. The red welts had developed into fine stinging lines of blood. She sat next to him and rubbed her hand gently over the irritated flesh, wiping the blood away. Dean hissed quietly and shivered under her touch. Celia's hand briefly brushed against the bronze pendant around his neck, nudging it out of the way. It was a startling contrast, the icy cold metal of the horned mask pendant against Dean flushed and burning skin. Her fingers slightly tinged red with Dean's blood Celia squeezed a little of the icy cold aloe gel onto her fingers. She rubbed it a little then into the scratches in his stomach and chest. Dean's head threw back gasping tightly in pain for a second then the stinging subsided entirely and there was nothing but the icy chill of the gel. He sighed heavily and slumped down towards the mattress.

"Alright." Celia sighed, satisfied with the layer of aloe on Dean's scratches. "Damn dog. We'll let ya be Dean, see if ya can finish that bottle of purple." Dean nodded slowly and reached for the tee shirt Sam dumped on the corner of the bed.

"Thanks." He rasped quietly.

"No problem, c'mon Sam." Celia said as she walked passed the taller brother.

"But Dean-"

"C'mon Sam." Celia ordered quietly. The older brother looked at Dean briefly then turned to follow Celia. Dean eased out a sigh at finally have some time alone to assess himself.

He felt like shit and he felt hot and dizzy.

That was as coherent as his thoughts got. Pain and heat and disorientation. Dean slowly pulled off his drenched boxers and pulled on the dry ones. He stood shakily and struggled with the jeans. Then the black tee shirt over his head. He struggled to pull his pendent free and away from his skin. The cool of it burned on his skin like an irritant.

Dean felt drained, reaching across and trying to drain the Gatorade without choking with the threat of an i.v. in mind.

He left a little in the bottle and finally gave over to his exhaustion collapsing onto his side in the bed. The mattress gave under his weight comfortably and Dean felt the drawing pull of unconsciousness like the waves felt the moon. He tried to even his breathing and keep his eyes open. He reached towards his pocket, normally towards a pill bottle full of some prescription to keep him up, either caffeine or methamphetamines. There was nothing now, he cursed under his breath.

**…**

Valentine crouched pitifully, whining terrified, and pressed against the front screen door in the living room. He knew he was in trouble. He whimpered when Celia walked passed him, she narrowed her eyes at the dog and kept walking to get supplies to clean up the water logged bathroom.

Valentine moaned miserably at the shunning. He wouldn't have considered himself lucky, there were dogs that took beatings that left them with broken bones, in this very town. But the look of sheer disproval and disappointment and harsh words from his beloved mistress was heart breaking. He knew that Celia didn't hate him and would probably get over her anger in half an hour but it was torture of punishment while it lasted. He whined sadly, he could see Buckshot and Alamo across the living room and in the kitchen. The other two dogs remained indifferent, offering no punishment or comfort.

Sam buttoned his fresh jeans, unsure what to do with his damp ones and refrained from putting on a shirt. His skin stung and felt tight again, the pain of the sunburn returning as he calmed.

He heard the whining and looked across at Valentine.

The white shepherd sighed as if in mortal pain. Sam glanced at Celia's back for a second then squatted down.

"Hey buddy. C'mere boy." Sam coaxed. Valentine's brows knitted for a second then the dog lurched to his feet and slunk across to Sam's outstretched hand, he was crouched so low to the ground he was practically belly crawling. The large dog by passed Sam's hand and practically tried to get into his lap, slumping down to lie on the floor at his feet. Valentine whined piteously and hid his face shamefully under his paw.

"Hey buddy." Sam soothed. Petting the large dog's pinned ears and thick neck. He turned the leather collar around.

"Valentine huh? Yeah, you didn't mean it, did you boy? It's alright buddy." Sam assured, scratching the dog's ears. Valentine sat up, whining and licked Sam's hand and face apologetically.

"Yeah buddy, it's alright." Sam soothed. Valentine wagged his tail, happy to have been forgiven by one stranger so quickly.

"Valentine." Celia called. Instantly the shepherd pulled away from Sam and slunk into the kitchen for his sentencing. Sam rose to his full height and followed the dog. Valentine dropped to his belly in the middle of the stone tiled floor, he whined, laid his ears back and looked up at Celia's turned back miserably.

Celia turned and leaned her hip against the counter and stainless steel sink.

"Valentine ya've got this ridiculous obsession with water. I don't mind ya spendin' hours at a time in the water troughs or watering holes. Hell, I've never got after ya for messin' with the water pump or the kitchen sink or barkin' at the washing machine!" Celia pointed at the washing machine, waiting on Dean's boxers and Sam's jeans.

Valentine whined quietly. Sam couldn't understand why Celia was talking to the dog like he was a child or another person, but it seemed to be doing the trick as Valentine looked like he was ready to be sick he was so sad.

"But ya cain't go crashin' into the bath tub! No Valentine!"

The white dog flinched at her voice.

"No more in the bath tub! Not by yerself, not with Imogene, not anybody! Do not jump on people! Understood?!"

Valentine whined softly.

"Alright." Celia turned to Sam. "Did ya forgive him?" She asked. Sam only nodded dumbly. She glared down at the dog pressing into her floor. He whined pitifully. Celia sighed and rubbed her face. Like a defeated mother and she slapped her palm against her thigh.

"C'mere." She said tiredly.

Valentine lunged to his feet, rushing and practically slamming into Celia's legs in apology, whining and wagging his tail and licking her hand.

"Yeah yeah, ya damn fool dog." Celia petted him between the ears, assuring him he was forgiven for now. "Now go ask the other one ya jumped on for forgiveness."

Glad to have been forgiven, Valentine bounded out of the kitchen and down the hall; he pushed the door to the guestroom door open and bounded in. He frozen stiffening and suddenly understanding this was a sick room and there were certain rules and ways a dog acted in a sick room. Pinning his ears and sniffing, Valentine whined and tiptoed to the bed where Dean was slumped with his eyes half lidded.

Dean's eyes flashed in memory and he tried to push himself up and away from the dog, but lacked the strength. Valentine pinned his ears and whined sympathetically, stalking over and pressing his pink nose into Dean's slacked hand. He licked the fevered flesh gently. Dean relaxed after a second and stretched a little to gently pet the white dog between the ears. Dean stretched his neck to read the collar.

"Valentine." He muttered thickly, coughing slightly. The shepherd whined again, his big heart suddenly breaking for the broken man in front of him.

He licked the inside of Dean's wrist, trying to sooth the heat away. Dean's eyes shut, accepting the comfort whole heartedly.

Valentine knew he was sick. He could tell, but unlike a human he knew how sick. Valentine could see the sickness in the body, and the sickness in the heart and mind, too. Like the taller man, but that sickness had a different brand, a different scent to it, and outward force. Here it was like the cancers that people in the town sometimes got, they made themselves sick.

With a huff Valentine braced his paws against the mattress and hefted his weight up next to Dean's. The white dog eased himself down to curl against Dean's stomach and legs. The white dog draped his head over Dean's hip and settled back gently. Dean was a little surprised by the comforting weight but reached down and gently pet the dogs shoulder before folding his arms up against his chest.

Dean's eyes drifted, heavier and for the first in a long time he felt secure enough to allow himself to sleep with Valentine sitting sentinel.

* * *

**Well, not much Dean and Sam in this one, mostly Tuscarora town dynamics…ugh pink lemonade…**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	5. Explore Your Dreams Carefully

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**

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Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Five: Explore Your Dreams Carefully**

"**How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares if there seemed any danger of their coming true!"**

**-Logan Pearshall Smith**

**…**

"I'll take those." Celia held out her hand and waited until Sam handed over the jeans. She walked into the mud room and dumped them into the washing machine.

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Sam said hurriedly. His mind was still addled by dehydration but he was starting to clear up and understand exactly what was going on around himself and his brother as fluid and replacement vitamins started flowing in his systems. It finally struck him as odd that the young woman that they hadn't known even existed twenty four hours ago had not only taken them into her home, trusted them enough to leave them alone, had gone out of her way to pulled the Impala off the road, offer to help them fix it, but was giving them her full attention and supplying her very best medical attention and damnit, she was doing their laundry.

It wasn't that Sam was ungrateful, far from it, but it seemed out of the ordinary. There was a line the normal good Samaritans shied away from. Especially from a pair of scruffy looking brothers that were taller than the average adult. Sam couldn't help but remember a joke from a fellow student at Stanford.

_Damnit, Sam. You're height, they way you make eye contact and dance around questions I'd call you a serial killer if I met you on the road._

Life had put truth to that statement as there were plenty of times that easy help the brothers needed was bypassed for their looks. Though they personally never passed a chance to help another. It put him on edge.

"Don't worry 'bout it Sam. I don't mind an extra load of laundry." Celia hesitated briefly, thinking, "But if ya have anything else ya'd like washed throw it in now. Get it all done at once."

"Red, that's okay." Sam shuffled nervously, suddenly aware that he was shirtless and standing in a stranger's house with his older brother, his protective buffer, out of commission.

"Honestly Sammy. I don't mind." Celia assured, her voice even and serious. The same voice she used when she started a nervous colt on his breaking. "Just throw it in."

Before he could protest more Celia slipped out of the room to get the boxers from Dean and find out where Valentine had gone.

She walked purposefully and started in the guest room. She stopped, stilling herself and backing up a step to hover in the door way. She smiled, almost sadly and leaned against the door jam.

Bathed in a blanket of warm sunlight Dean and Valentine slept. The young man's chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that matched the shepherd's perfectly. Celia held her breath and listened, concentrating hard, her hypersensitive ears picking up the steady drum of their hearts. She let out a silent breath of relief that Dean's heart was beating steadily, though a little fast as it matched Valentine's beat for beat.

Valentine's shoulder twitched slightly and he let out a muffled growl that Dean matched with an exhausted grunt, as if they were having the same dream. Celia smiled. She would have figured Dean to bond up with Buckshot, Hunter for a hunter. But the old saying of opposites attracting had more weight and truth to it than many gave credit for.

Celia felt an ease creep into her stomach, finally overriding the well masked nervousness and fear. She wouldn't admit it out loud but she always had some part of her that waited for the worst to happen and she waited with baited breath for that one moment of assurance that everything would work out for the best. Sometimes it happened in a hurry, sometimes not at all and left a small rock of quilt in her stomach. And other times, like this, it snuck up on her unexpectedly. It usually happened that way with a Winchester.  
Dean looked at peace for the first time since she'd laid eyes on him at the crossroads. She's almost called out to him when she saw the Impala, almost threw herself off Blackbird's back to hug him or slap him or something of that nature. But the distance, the suspicion and lack of recognition in his eyes had stilled her onslaught of familiarity and reconnection. He didn't even know her.

Now he looked like the Dean Winchester she knew, a few years older, few years rougher and with a shadow of age in his eyes that told of serious growing pains that she hoped he'd share with her soon. In sleep his face held none of that, devoid of emotion and torment, self or outwardly inflicted. That fled from the body and left the raw soul out for everyone to see, or at least those who knew what they were looking for to see. The quiet and reserved, gentle handed and gentler natured; a ten fold more desirable, a ten fold stronger, a ten fold more _beautiful_ than the charm, sharp wit, sarcasm and player attitude he treated to the world. She hoped what she saw wasn't a fluke, a shadow of what he was. The look in his eyes, the way he held himself worried her that maybe that soul she knew had been damaged, maybe beyond repair. She prayed silently for that scenario to only be her fear getting to her.

The golden sunlight filtering across his shoulders and head, casting light and shadows on the planes of his face and making the honey colored streaks in his hair almost burn. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air giving the young man an almost ethereal look, like he wasn't meant for this plain of existence. Much less live the lot that life had cast him. She wouldn't have though him human if it weren't for the pained wheeze as he breathed, trying to keep air into his congested and dry lungs. Celia sighed sadly.

"Dean, ya always did look better in the sunlight. I wish ya didn't live in the shadows."

Valentine's head snapped up and twisted around. He cocked his ears forward and tensed to rise. When Celia lifted a hand, he relaxed again, assured he wasn't being chased out. The white dog yawned, showing off rows of white teeth and pink gums, then settled his large head back across Dean's hip. Celia walked with an unnatural silence into the room and lifted the damp boxers from the floor and slipped back out, drawing the door shut with enough room for Valentine to slip out if he chose to, though she doubted the dog would abandon his post at Dean's side.

Celia trekked back to her kitchen and the laundry, she dumped in the boxers and glanced as Sam, the taller young man had taken a seat at the scarred table and was flinching in silent pain from the burning of his skin. She sighed and picked the aloe gel off the counter top and set it in front of him, reached into the paper bag and pulled out another green Gatorade.

"Ya like green right?" Sam nodded dumbly to answer her question. She set it next to the aloe. "Do yerself a favor boy. Don't try and tough out sun burn. If I had anythin' to say about it I'd call it a second degree." She motioned at his forearms, blotchy skin ranging from bright pink to a disturbing red. "Maybe worse. Use the aloe. Trust me it works."

"Thanks." Sam said almost dejectedly. Hanging his head slightly and reaching automatically for the aloe. Celia sighed quietly. She decided that if Sam was as moody as Dean was she'd be ripping her hair out in a hurry. The boy seemed sorrowful enough, the discolored lines of scars running around his torso and arms was like a road map. A map of the boy's hard life. Dean had one like it, a bit more extensive and deeper but still they were similar. He seemed like a kid that once had a smile to lighten a room and heart, but had given up on it. Celia decided to treat him like he still had it.

"C'mon now, son. Me bullyin' ya cain't be worse than what the brother of yers does. At least mine if for yer health." She teased gently. "Course I haven't gone for yer hair yet. God forbid my momma walk in here now and start screamin' at ya for being as bone thin as ya are. She'd have ya eatin' in yer sleep tryin' to put weight on ya."

Sam scoffed a little, a small smile drifting briefly on his lips.

"Thank you for helping us. We appreciate it." Sam said lamely. Celia snorted and shook her head, looking a bit like a horse. A hand came up to insure that her hat stayed securely in place.

"No thanks needed, Sam. What would I have done, left y'all out there to cook?"

"Someone else might have." Sam muttered quietly.

"And whys that?" Celia pressed quietly.

"Stranger danger." Sam shrugged, without much more to explain.

"A stranger is someone ya just don't know the name of and shared a beer with yet." Celia shrugged, trying to assure the younger brother. She knew the Winchester reaction to bolt and definitely didn't want Sam running out on her before she got a chance to know the kid.

Sam looked at her inquisitively, his sharp eyes calculating and reminded Celia of the youngest member of her adoptive family. Imogene Greer was barely eleven years old and had a fire in her eyes that screamed scholar. She was a smart girl no doubt but she had a thirst for knowledge and understanding that drove Celia and the eldest sibling Elijah insane with the 'whys' and 'hows' and 'whats'. Celia had a feeling that if the two met they'd warm up in a hurry.

"You really trusting to believe things like that." Sam muttered. A flash of memory of Zeke saying something along the same lines with venom in the words made Celia's blood boil for a second.

"Ya gonna give me a reason I shouldn't?" Celia cocked her head slightly. Sam flinched and looked a little startled, unsure what she was implying.

Sam only shrugged. He jumped when the cell phone in Celia's pocket rang loudly. She dug in her pocket and pulled it out, flipping open the phone.

"Red. Yeah Doc, what can I do for ya?"

She hesitated.

"Damn. Alright, yeah that's alright, as soon as ya can. Thanks Mark, I appreciate it."

Another pause for 'Mark' to speak.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll see ya." She flipped the phone closed and set it on the table. "Well that was Mark Halen." She told Sam without prompting. "The doc I called 'bout coming out to look at Dean and yerself."

Sam tensed up. "Red, we…we can't afford a doctor."

Celia would have laughed, if he only knew what she knew. She kept her voice light and assuring. "Don't worry 'bout it Sam. I've got it."

"Red-"

"Sammy, it's fine. If anythin' the good doc owes me a few. Don't let that worry ya at all. So he was goin' to show up here right 'bout now right?" She pushed passed the subject of money in hurry. He seemed a little defeated.

"Yeah?"

"There's a complication in the surgery he's in the middle of. It's gonna be a couple of hours. Ya mind waitin' that long?"

"No its no problem." Sam assured her, "As soon as we see him we'll get out of your hair."

"What do ya mean?"

Sam looked at her in confusion. "We'll go to a motel or something and wait for the part for the Impala."

Celia smiled gently and scoffed. "Oh Sam, there ain't a motel for near fifty miles in any direction. Y'all are stayin' with me."

"Oh, no. Red. We've imposed too much already. We appreciate it but we couldn't ask that of you." Sam said hurriedly, twitching nervously again.

"Ya didn't, son. I invited ya and its quiet the insult to turn that down. Y'all can crash here until further notice." She brushed him off gently with a reassuring smile. Sam looked ready to protest. _Jesus, are they all like this? Cain't stand to take a little help without a catch?_ Celia thought to herself and cut him off, "All I ask is that when you boys get yer wind back ya give me a hand 'round here. It's a little touch and go right now by myself, family's out of town for the holiday and everythin'."

"Absolutely." Sam looked ready to lunge to her command in an instant.

"Alright, well in the mean time give yerself an aloe bath and drink that. Feel free to walk 'round and take a look at the place, just don't break anythin'. I gotta mop the bathroom." Celia gathered up the bucket, mop and sponge she'd pulled out a little earlier and looking like she was prepared to go to war walked towards the bathroom. Sam watched her back until she was out of sight. He was still a little shell shocked by the trust and casual way that she helped him and his brother. Asking for nothing in return.

She reminded him of Dean.

With a sigh he rubbed the cooling aloe on his arms and neck, around his ears and face. He put the aloe and paper bag back into the refrigerator and cracked the seal on the third Gatorade he would dink that day. Buckshot and Alamo watched his booted feet shuffle from under the table as he paced once or twice in a short circle before curiosity got the better of the younger Winchester and sent him off on the most mild mannered adventure of his life to explore the farm house.

He made a brief circuit around the kitchen, refreshing himself. Lightly stained hard woods, grey granite counter tops and the grey stone titled floor. The screen door and the oak door. The battered and seemingly ageless wooden table with four hard backed chairs to one side of the room. He nosily pulled open cabinets and found glass wear and ceramic dinner wear, coffee mugs of all sizes and hand thrown ceramics. More spices then Sam have cared to keep and more food then Sam was used to seeing in one area. Stainless steel, double sink, refrigerator and dishwasher, a small set of shelves heavy with cookbooks and scrap papers with recipes. There was a lingering smell of countless homemade meals, it had a feeling like many smiles were shared and many tears shed here. And old wireless radio sat comfortably next to a toaster on the counter and little green plants in pots grew happily in circles of spilled noonday sunlight. Sam nearly tripped over the large bowl of water for the dogs and then trying to avoid it nearly stepped into the steel food bowl marked Buckshot. A low irritated growl drifted to him from under the table.

"Sorry." Sam apologized automatically. He only ducked his head into the hall adjoining the kitchen where the washing machine was whirring loudly. A mud room, a mass of different jackets, ball caps and Stetsons and a small hill of mud caked boots were pushed to one side of the room and the washer with the dryer on the other side. A shelf above his head with different fabric softeners and detergents as well as small set of hooks holding rings of keys. And a closed door at the far end.

Ducking back out followed the flow of the house into the living room, spacious and he craned his head back to look up at the ceiling another six feet over his head. Polished and stained support beams crossed the room just out of his reach. Sam looked around, her had three ways to go. Down the hall, where he could hear the slap of a mop on tiled floor. Up the stairs to the second floor or around and across the living room into the front hall and the rest of the first floor. Sam chewed the inside of his cheek, deciding to be systematic about it. He walked around the living room, the hard wood floor creaking quietly under his boots. But no matter which direction he would take the house would keep up with its comfortable and welcoming country nature of earthy tones of browns and reds and the use of natural materials like hardwoods, leather, iron, and stone and walls painted caramel brown.

He walked around a plush couch of russet upholstery, a matching chair stood angled on the far side. A battered coffee table of rich dark wood was stacked with a large book of photographs of old barns across America, and a bronze cast of a Fredrick Remington sculpture. A quick glance around assured Sam it was not the last one in the house. Known for his work of the old west subject matter Sam wouldn't have expected much less. He drifted his fingers over the arched neck of the bronze horse with its nose in the shoulder of a crouched cowboy. A large screened television was settled into an entertainment cabinet a few feet apart from the seating, the shelves stocked with DVDs and VHS videos. Including a few marked clearly as home movies, though a fine layer of dust made it clear that this was a entrainment usually done without. A wide window let a tremendous amount of light into the room and over looked the front yard and porch, out to the street and the neighboring land. Sam squeezed passed the chair and walked along a wall of shelves laden with potted plants, candles in cast iron bowls, décor trinkets, books and framed photographs of the family, extended and immediate and friends. Sam recognized landmarks of the town behind smiling and posing people. Sam noticed a few with Celia in them and plenty with horses, cattle or dogs. Sam briefly lifted one of Celia. Candid, she was in the middle of the motions of branding a calf, her face hidden by the shadow of her hat. He set it back on the shelf gingerly.

Sam turned and purposefully walked across the room towards the front hall, noticing the walls everywhere he went were decorated with art work in mattes and frames, black and white lithographs and pieces of aged tack, mostly bits and bridles. Sam hesitated at a mounted rifle over a wall table top where a land line phone, another potted vine and a small set of books between carved bear bookends.

The front hall was like the mud room, a few sets of boots on a woven rug, a couple of coats and hats hung on wall rungs. A side table with a ceramic bowl practically full to brim with loose change and another vine. A black and white lithograph of a painted horse was hung above. Another oaken door and a screen one beyond that. Sam walked through the hall into another large room.

It seemed like a den and play room. Another couch set, this one of light brown fabric and two plush chairs, ringed around a lightly stained coffee table on a thick brown rug and a mantled fireplace. The grate was closed. Another Remington was resting on the coffee table and either end of the mantle had one of a set of horse sculptures. The heads flung up and back in a spirited trot, candles and a large photo of a smiling, strong jawed man that looked like an older version of a young man that appeared several times in pictures in the other room. Sharp eyed and with a kind and knowing smile.

_Must be their dad_, Sam reasoned to himself. He had to admit he liked the look of the man.

Mounted on the wall was a huge lithograph of rolling prairie shadowed by massive juniper trees. A ghostly draft horse was galloping out of the swirling fog. His head flung up and neck arched, thickly feathered hooves locked in smooth mid stride forever, the dappled grey coat standing against the dark background. Sam shivered slightly at the odd photograph. He glanced around. More shelves of books and framed photos and artwork and a smile cracked his face.

_Oh Dean will love this!_

It was pool table at the far end of the room, aged and beautiful in its simplicity. The fleece was a deep red wine like color and stood out against the rich almost black wood of the table. Even the cues seemed to be made of the same wood and the balls were a different pattern then was found in a normal bar. Deeper and richer colors and darker with black numbers. And on the other side of the pool table was a wet bar, complete with stools of hard stained wood. The bar top was the same granite as the kitchen as so was the tile on the floor where the wooden flooring ended shy of the pool table. The shelves behind the bar stocked with an array of liquor, glass wear, a few books on bartending and plenty of 'guy stuff', several sculptures, all of them big predators, including a wolf, bear, mountain lion. And the exception of a trophy bull elk. Mounted fire arms and photographs from church league softball games and high school football games and a framed jersey marked clearly 'GEER' on the back, number twenty one for the Tuscarora Coyotes. Sam looked back the feminine side of the room and practically jogged over to the pool table and knew in an instant where all the guys hung out in town on game nights. He picked up the white cue ball and spun it on the fleece with an almost wild grin.

Dean would LOVE this. He almost stopped on his exploration but pushed himself away and passed out of the room towards another room.

It was a dining room, a long dark wood table and dark wood chairs the main focus of the entire room and nothing to special caught his attention. He briefly glanced at the artwork and a large glass faced cabinet of fine china a silver. He went straight for the door and the far end. He twisted and it opened up into the mud room off the kitchen. Sam nodded and shutting the door behind him swiftly walked through the kitchen, catching a hold of his Gatorade and taking a deep gulp before setting it back down. He practically jogged out of the kitchen and turned sharply to start up the stairs. His boots thumped loudly, making Dean stir briefly in his fevered dreams and Celia look up as she walked passed the stairs towards the kitchen. She sighed and shook her head gently with a light smile.

He bounded up the steps onto the second floor. There was a spans of hardwood into an alcove before breaking off into a branched hall. He followed the left side first. He opened the first door he came to and stuck his head in, a linen closet stocked with sheets, pillows, blankets and towels. Sam shut the door again and progressed to the next one. He traced his fingers on the caramel colored wall, careful not to knock over any frame works on the walls and pulled opened the door.

Master bedroom, a large, sunlit room. Like the rest of the house widened with windows. The caramel colored paint was a shade lighter and the hard wood a shade darker. Sam didn't intrude, only glanced around at the mahogany colored bed frame, neatly made with a tawny comforter and folded quilt and at least seven pillows. A sliding double door closet, a plush circular brown rug and dressers. A desk shoved to the side stacked with paper work and thick books. The chair pushed back. More artwork and lithograph, more landscape and scenic content. Sam pulled the door closed and passed the last door on this end of the hall.

He pushed it open and started slightly. Another bed room but this one was trashed. Toys flung wildly around the room with plenty of laundry that had conveniently missed the hamper. A queen bed was unmade, the walls decorated with personal artwork and a desk buried under half finished projects and homework. Sam decided he didn't want to venture to far and backed off. Shutting the door behind him. He turned and walked back down the hall, passed the stair and opened the next door.

The room was oddly generic. It looked like the room downstairs, a guest room. The only difference was the color of the comforter.

Sam yawned. His excitement was starting to subside.

The next room was a bathroom. The tiles were russet and browns instead of the white and tawnies like the one downstairs.

The next room got some attention but Sam continued to keep himself reined in from crossing the boundaries. It must have been the older brother's room. The bed was pushed against the wall and under a window. It was king, like all the others and like all the others the room was relatively large. It was made almost strictly with a dark blue comforter. A standing shelve of thick, generic books of dark blue binding. A closet and dresser, a square chest at the end of the bed with a folded blanket and a worn stuffed dog sitting in the corner. Photographs of the young occupant from hunting training, of which there was another mounted rifle and an impressive mule deer rack. There were classic photos of soldiers, battle grounds, a large one of the Gettysburg Memorial Cemetery heavily fogged in the early morning, then the young man's military photograph. Elijah Greer was a full fledged Marine. He saluted in the photo, his chest marked with rank and medals. Sam looked closer at the books; all of them on military tactics, the history of wars by the wars themselves. Sam swallowed dryly and felt a little smaller. He noticed a few photos on the desk top nearly the door and couldn't help himself. He reached across and lifted them. Each one the young man was posed with a group of other soldiers, in the Kevlar gear and the ravages of Iraq behind them. According to the dates and notes written on the back the young man had gone through three tours over seas so far. Sam glanced at a glass tank and smiled slightly as a large hermit crab slowly scuttled across the lumpy sand and rocks of his little world.

Sam set the photos back and moved on to the next door. He was a little startled that it was locked. He didn't try and force it and went to the last door. That could have only been Celia's room.

_Best for last_ he thought and pushed open the door.

The room was unique in itself in the smell. The others had a slightly flowery scent, a deodorizer. Celia's room wasn't the same, it was laid thickly with a smell of sweat, both human and equine, fresh turned earth, hay and something that could only be described as the desert. Another king sized bed, half made, the brown comforter and Indian weave blanket thrown back. A well worn stuffed black bear slumped against the pillows. There was a closet, a wicker basket hamper that clothes were beginning to overflow, large area rug also Indian weave. Her pride in her heritage was obvious by the photographs and artwork of aged Native chiefs in headdresses and age crinkled faces, horses clearly mustangs and appaloosas and other native species. A large glass faced cabinet was obviously locked and to shadowed inside to see the contents though it looked like books and glass bottles. Wall shelves were heavy with aged, leather bound books, small plants of different species in small pots, animal figures of carved wood and bone, a few photographs of Celia with her horses, one or two in a competition ring for show or rodeo. There was a large aged chest sitting at the end of her bed and there was a thick iron padlock keeping it closed. Winchester instinct told him to pick it but Sam refrained. A desk was heavy with manila folders and paper work and a small leather bound book that Sam could only explain as a diary. Again tempted but he restrained, enjoying himself to watch two small, big eyed blue fish swim lazily in a large glass cookie jar filled with brown and tan gravel and a few larger rocks of similar color. Sam smiled casually. He tapped on the glass.

"Don't tap on the glass, Sammy." He nearly jumped out of his skin. Almost knocking over the whole desk. Celia quirked a smile at him and walked around him to her closet to reach in and start looking for something.

"Sorry." How could he have not heard her? She was barely a foot way.

"Don't be sorry, ya wouldn't like some monster tappin' on the side of yer world." Celia shrugged. Sam almost laughed at the irony of what she said but held it back. He decided to remember that quote for the next time he had to explain what the yellow-eyed demon was doing to his life.

"Never seen fish like that before." Sam muttered almost awkwardly, having been caught in her room.

"Probably won't ever again. Those are Devil's Hole Pup Fish. They only live and survive in captivity and in this dinky little water spring 'but a hundred miles south of here."

"A spring?"

"Kind of more like a little pond. Federal land now, protectin' the species and everythin' but we Nevada borns have a right to 'em. What I figure anyway." Celia shrugged, pulling out a small box rummaged in it and grumbled as what ever she was looking for was still out of her reach.

"Oh." Sam muttered lamely. There was only one room now that he hadn't seem, besides the locked door, which he assumed was a stairway to the attic.

"Yeah." Celia muttered and left the room as quickly and silently as she'd entered it. Sam followed on her heels. His boots thudding on the stairs sounded like thunder compared to Celia's nonexistent steps. Sam was trying to figure out if he'd ever met anyone that moved so lightly that she didn't make sounds. Dean could be that silent, when he needed to be on the prowl. But this quiet all the time had wheels starting to turn in Sam's head. She sighed and stretched as she walked into the kitchen. For a second Sam considered going down the side hall to the last door. He sniffed and decided to follow her and save the last room for later.

"Ya like coffee Sammy?"

"It's Sam."

"Sorry, 'round here we don't normally run with our given names. Save, I suppose yers would be Samuel."

"That's right." Sam slipped to sit in the chair at the end of the table like the other times he'd sat in the room. Celia crossed and started a kettle on the stove with water. She briefly touched the steel of the kettle and willed it to heat a little faster.

"Good strong name, 'Samuel'. A prophet."

Sam cringed, _please not another psycho bible thumper_, he begged silently. _I can't take a religious fanatic right now. _Sam hadn't failed to notice the crucifixes scattered on the walls, including one in Celia's room.

"What was that look for?" Celia asked with a little laughter in her voice.

"Oh…um…"

"Ya think I'm born again?" She asked, watching his eyes flick to the silver crucifix around her neck.

"Well…I just…" Sam trailed off awkwardly.

"I take it yer not a believer then?" Celia asked, the kettle starting to whistle far too early then if it hadn't had help. Sam gave an almost apologetic shrug, a flush creeping into his face and he hurriedly fell on his half finished Gatorade trying to not look at her. Celia desperately tried to restrain herself from messing with the younger brother's head. Suave evidently wasn't a hereditary trait, Dean could have talked his way out of this painted corner in a heart beat. Hell, he had once or twice.

"Not really." Sam supplied awkwardly when her eyes didn't drift away from his face.

"Well, there are reasons to lose faith. And reasons to gain it back again. I've seen both ends of that bull." Celia soothed gently and poured the coffee grounds directly into the kettle and started swirling it. She poured more in and swirled it a little slower.

"Have you?" Sam implored, feeling a little relieved that she wasn't going to try and convert him. Sam decided he needed to make a small connection with this young woman. If she was helping them so completely he figured she deserved to have at least casual friendship from him. That and he was starting to feel lonely without his brother. Unlike Dean who could probably live his life without human contact Sam was pure pack animal. He longed for human contact and connection. That was why their life was so hard for him. He had a feeling that he was going to be bored and therefore aggravated. Normally this was a huge step up from crashing in a motel; the fun and hell he and Dean could raise with a wet bar and pool table. Over stocked food and liquor, big screen television, wireless internet connection and a _friend_ to the extent the word could reach under their conditions. Sam had a sudden day dream of the three of them sitting the den room, Celia watching Sam and Dean banter and play a casual game of pool and drinking beer with a baseball game on the radio.

It was a fantasy to be sure. Sam had noticed Dean's gradual drift away, the stand-offishness and moodiness that was shortening both their tempers. But the fantasy was what Sam wanted and he knew for a fact that without the nudging and tiring persistence of his older brother that he wouldn't do much more than sit around, brood and mess around on his laptop. With Dean passed out and sick in a bad way, Sam needed to have someone to keep him busy, someone to talk to.

"I have." Celia yawned and carried a ceramic mug of the thick black coffee to him. "See if ya can keep that down, watch 'er now, I make it like yer chewin' lead."

"So you're a believer?' Sam asked, holding off on the coffee for a minuet. Celia nodded, sipping her own and sitting across from him.

"I found, in time, not just because they hauled my scrawny ass to church every Sunday and put me through Church school on Wednesday nights, that I had faith because the good seemed to out weigh the bad. I know its not the same for everyone, though."

Sam cocked his head at her, trying to read between the lines and took a sip from the coffee. He winced, hacking on the liquid that practically attacked him it was so strong. Celia laughed good naturedly and pushed the sports drink towards him.

**…**

Dean was dead to the world, his only sensation was warmth, not heat, but light assuring warmth. And a pulse, it wasn't his own.

_Valentine_.

He dreamed, locked in a landscape manipulated and influenced by the running fever.

_Dean's vision cleared. It was a city, more like a black and white photograph of a city, oddly abstract and devoid of life and color and sound. Cast in an eerie blue monochrome. The chill in the air was choking, pressing down on his chest and seeping straight into his bones and marrow. Dean shivered and pulled his leather jacket closer to his frame and it only seemed to get colder. He walked slowly down the streets of this silent abandoned city; any movement was halted and awkward, like a DVD skipping on a screen. His boots echoed in the silence and Dean felt utterly alone and he hated it. He could hear his own heart beat, irregular and not even beating sometimes. Those times he could feel the cold tightening of his heart. The same feeling as when he'd been lying on a stretcher watching daytime television. _

_Dean shivered and looked up at the slate grey sky, devoid of weather, night or day, plain and flat. The loneliness and chill slammed into him full weight, stopping his heart forcefully. Dean choked coughing and rubbing his throat in pain. He finally was able to breathe fully, air expanding his pained lungs. Dean wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. _

_Panting Dean straightened and rolled back his shoulders. _

_A deep baritone bark echoed loudly in the silence. The reverberation of noise lingered and thrummed against the inside of Dean's ears. He turned towards the noise as a second bark thundered across the dream world. _

_The white German Shepherd sat back on his haunches, bright blue eyes trained on him, sides heaving in pants of air. The dog licked his lips. All his movements were slowed in motion, one tenth of normal speed. _

"_Valentine." Dean said, his voice oddly quiet while all other noise echoed against the buildings. _

_Valentine's ears pushed forward, he cocked his head. The dog rose to his feet in the same slow motion, turned and started to trot away. Dean hesitated then walked to catch up. Though the dog was moving so slowly that Dean could see the hair and muscle rolling in each stride. It took several long seconds for the dog to take steps. He trotted around a corner. Dean broke into a jog to catch up. _

"_Valentine! Wait!" He called, running around the corner in time to watch a white tail and haunch slowly lope around another corner and down an alley. Dean sprinted to get to the alley opening and hesitated. The alley yawned open at him, the same eerie blue darkened around, but a massive screen towered at the end of the alley. A stretched canvas that looked like hide strung into a frame of black iron bars. The screen looked like a window, the brilliant red rock sand of a barren desert landscape. The brilliant russet color burned against a dark sky of swirling blue grey clouds of a coming storm. Dean squinted, there was a horse on the screen but he couldn't be sure if Valentine was there, too. Dean crossed to the screen walking to the edge and leaning around to look full on at the picture. He could feel the dry heat. _

_Dean wrapped his hand around the supporting bar, careful not to touch the raw hide strings tying the hide screen into place and heaved himself up three feet to step into the desert. He passed through the screen, his boots crunching in the red dirt. He brushed his hands off on his jeans. Heat struck him and Dean carelessly shed his leather jacket and unbuttoned flannel, letting them drop to the earth, leaving the young man in worn jeans, a white tee shirt and his motorcycle boots. He fingered the pendant around his neck and looked around. Dean could feel the chill at his back. The city left behind on the other side of his looking glass. Unlike the city this dreamscape had sound. The soft twanging hum of a steel guitar whispered in his ears. Dean looked around taking in the new word. The red rock desert stretched out beyond his sight, rising in somewhat familiar blue rock mountains in the south. He looked up at the sky, the rolling clouds folded over themselves, twisting and curling and threatening rain. _

_Dean rubbed his arms, getting rid of the last touch of the cold air behind him. _

_He started towards the horse; feeling odd that he was the only thing moving in normal speed in the world of suspended animation. The horse too was suspended in time. Caught in mid gallop and slowed down to a tenth of the normal speed. In the time it took Dean to cross the several hundred yards towards the horse it had only made a single stride in advance. Each leg curling up elegantly in stride, stretching out, the muscles rolling smoothly under flesh, the hoof connecting with the earth in a small kick of dirt and gravel as it galloped, lost in slow motion. Dean walked around the animal. It was a large horse, tall at the shoulder and well built, its frame fleshed out, as far as Dean was concerned the animal was perfection. The coat was red brown splashed and spotted in a painting of white so brilliant in burned against the landscape; the pattern was expansive spreading over the back and rump down the sides, up the neck and down the legs. The sloping head was bald faced, pure white from nose tip to ears and halfway down the neck. Brilliant blue eyes seemed to watch him as he walked around it, so pale in color they almost looked white. Dean licked his dry and cracked lips and reached towards the animal. He brushed his fingers briefly through the flowing mane that drifted in the air, moving slowly as the horse moved, like long hair under water. _

_Reminded of a clock work toy, like the animal wasn't really alive, just going though the motions it's jointed and gear insides were designed. But listening he could hear the slow draw of air, see the expansion of the rib cage and each time a hoof came down into the dirt the west rush of air flowing out. The steady and slow drum of the horse's heart pounded against his ears, assuring him that it was alive and as real as he was._

_Dean reach to touch the shoulder, brace his large palm against the slowly flowing muscle._

_**No, Ahote. Not yet.**_

_Dean drew back as the voice whispered in his ear, his skin never touching the animal. He felt a shiver flow down his spine and looked around. _

_**Here Ahote. Here. **_

_Dean turned towards the voice, the north. A twisted and knarled tree grew from the earth, it's branches dead and bleached in the sun like bones. A large crow rustled its wings, cocking its head and croaking quietly. The bird stretched its wings up and arched its neck and cawed loudly._

_**Come!**_

_The bird burst into flight, wings cracking against the air like gunfire. It flew swooping around him and back winging in his face, making Dean step back from the horse._

_He started to speak but the crow croaked. _

_**Come! Quick now! **_

_The bird's voice echoed in his mind, words braided with the natural noise a crow makes. The bird started flying west. Dean jogged to follow._

_**Hurry Ahote!**_

_The crow flew faster, Dean running to keep up with the bird and its shadow. An outcrop of boulders rose on the horizon. Dean was panting, his limbs shivering and the crow egged him faster. The bird flew ahead, the outcrop lurching up at him. Massive rocks scattered carelessly like children's toys. Dean ducked around the boulders towering over his head, the rocky earth suddenly sloping down and filling with glass mirror like water. Ankle deep and splashing up to soak his jeans up to his knees; feeling lost Dean hesitated and looked around, panting and the water instantly going still around him; smoothed into an eerie mirror of reflecting light. _

_**Here…Ahote this way…here…**_

_The voice whispered echoing around him. Dean followed the noise, a slow walk. He was exhausted as he walked around another boulder. Glancing up he started. Celia looked up and out at him from her perch on a eroded rock bank. The crow perched on her forearm and Valentine lounging at her side. Her blood colored eyes darkened slightly, turning almost burgundy. Her red hair falling down around her shoulders, wearing a white tank top and dark colored jeans. Dean held back, his mind had warped her into something different then what he remembered from his fevered state. _

_Her shoulders and neck were collared with tribal tattoos. The black standing against her tawny skin, almost carved into her flesh. Her brow was spilt, a set of curved and crinkled rams horns grew from her skull at the hair line, curved back over her skull and curling around her ears. The horn was the dark red color of dried blood. Dean shied at the tattoos and horns, hesitating. _

_**Dean.**_

_This phantom of Celia said without speaking, Dean felt drawn and slogged through the water towards her, fear filling his chest. He hesitated, shock coloring his face. Resting calmly in her hands and across her lap was the Colt. He took a step back, trying to understand. Her eyes seemed glazed, flickering across his face. She started to rise, setting the Colt down next to Valentine, the crow lifting off her shoulder to perch down on the white dog's and she slipped down the rock to walk in the water towards him. Like everything else in this world she moved slowly, water lapping up to soak her jeans. _

_Her face suddenly contorted in fear, panic flashed across Dean's mind._

_**Dean! Don't look in the water!**_

_Instantly his eyes flashed down the mirror like surface._

_**Dean!**_

_A huge coyote looked up at him, standing on the other side of the glass water. Its pale brown fur marked with tribal bars and circles. The animal grinned, black teeth against white gums. Dean started back a step as the coyote leaped from it's side of the glass into his, jaws flung wide it hurled at him, a hundred pounds slammed into Dean's chest and neck as the coyote's jaws slammed shut on his throat. The animal snarled, wrenching and tearing out his windpipe and jugular vein, toppling them both down under the mirror water and into darkness. _

Valentine whined quietly as Dean trashed in his sleep. The dog lurched up suddenly and leaped off the bed, crashing through the door and towards the kitchen, looking for help.

**

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Nightmares suck when they're fevered and vivid like that, you can trick yourself into believing you're actually dying. Sorry Dean, its for the better of the story…I think this is the most important chapter yet…if you want to see a good interpretation of what the dream desert looks like plug this into your address bar and hit go: ****www. deviantart. com/ deviation/ 12194994/**** (without the spaces)**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	6. The Good Physician and the Town Doctor

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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****Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Six: The Good Physician and the Town Doctor**

**"What's up, doc?"**

**-Bugs Bunny**

**…**

Celia took a long draw from her coffee. She was glad when Sam excused himself to the bathroom. That meant his systems were getting enough fluid and back on track. He probably would be back on top by the morning. She doubted that Mark Halen would do much more than give the boy a couple of shots of cortizone and write off a prescription for pain killers until Sam's skin peeled once, maybe twice depending on how bad the burn actually was. Celia shrugged and reached for the day's newspaper. She'd spent eight hours on the range and then the last three trying to keep up with the Winchesters. She knew she was going to get irritable in a hurry if things didn't settle down. Usually by now she would have had a power nap just to get through the rest of her day of paperwork, ranch work…

_SHIT! THE CATTLE!_

Celia groaned as if in mortal pain and slumped into her seat, scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

_I'm going to be up all fuckin' night tryin' to get those cattle in in the dark! Goddamnit!_ She screamed to herself.

And hell, there was no doubt that Halen would want her at Dean's side all night to make sure the boy didn't go into to shock, fits or goddamn cardiac arrest. She glanced at her watch.

If she hit the pasture right after Halen walked out the door she might get done counting and round up a few hours after twilight.

A loud whine shattered her attention to the dire problem of her herd. Valentine pawed at her knee, his ears pinned and mouthing air nervously. She stood instantly knowing that look.

It was the 'Timmy's-Down-The-Well' look that her dogs got in dire situations.

"What up?" Sam asked, having spent the last ten minuets in the bathroom.

"Nothin', just Valentine wants me to look at somethin'. I'll be right back." Celia lied easily and started to follow the dog out of the kitchen, Sam sinking down into his chair. Celia honestly didn't want to panic the young man, or have him hovering over her shoulder like a twitching colt. He had suddenly become irate at the idea of having to crunch her schedule.

"Alright." He looked a little startled at her sharp tone and went back to the coffee he was slowly gnawing down to an empty cup, looking dejected.

Celia sighed. It wasn't like she would have turned her back on the Winchesters if she had to do it all again. Hell she might have done it better the second time around. She breathed out, forcing the irritation and clip out of her voice and system. She couldn't take it out on Sam or Dean, they'd done nothing wrong. If the cattle stood out for a night it would be worth the price if it helped the boys get back to their healthy as horses selves.

She swallowed dryly, hoping she wouldn't have to clean up a kill.

"Sorry, Sammy; I just realized I'm probably not goin' to sleep tonight. It gives me a headache is all." She reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, careful and light enough that it didn't irritate his burns. Sam felt some of the tension drain from his frame and relaxed, smiling sympathetically.

Valentine gave a sharp whine of protest.

Celia turned and followed the dog down the hall, ducking into the bathroom and quickly soaking a wash cloth in cold water. She had a slight idea what Dean might be suffering. If his fever had spiked she'd have to dump him back into a water bath. She didn't think his body could take the shock all over again without shutting down. Valentine whined urgently, begging her to hurry.

Celia strode the last few feet to the guest room and pushed the door open and cursed viciously under her breath. She crossed the room in a stride and kneeled on the bed next to Dean. He face was contorted in pain. He was choking, gasping for air in pain rasps. Shivering violently he'd curled up on himself and was unconsciously trying to burrow deeper into the mattress and quilt. The muscles in his arms and back convulsing uncontrollably. He was whimpering between the gasps for air, sickly pained noises that if an animal had been making Celia would have been more likely to put it out of its misery. They were noises that Celia associated with death throws.

"Shit." Celia breathed. She knew he was having a nightmare, and a hell of a one to boot. She couldn't just shake Dean out a nightmare, not with the heat stroke on him. Much less the fact that he had a habit of reacting violently when he was woken up. She mentally and physically prepared herself for a punch to the gut or side if it came to it. She had to try and get him to settle in his sleep, calm the dream and then wake him up. Valentine whined, and pressed as close to the bed side as he could without jumping up. His ears pinned and begging for her to help him.

Celia called up everything she knew about medicine, man and beast alike and compared it to what she knew about Dean Winchester. She reached forward and carefully pried Dean's arms and hand away from the painfully tight hug on his own chest. She flinched, touching his flesh was like and open flame, his fever had spiked in the stress and panic of the dream. Dean resisted in his fevered dreams and Celia exerted her reserve strength and pulled his arms out, she trapped his wrists together in one of her hands, she squeezed down on the sinew, muscle and veins, forcing his hands to relax. Dean jerked and twitched, grinding his teeth and hissed in pain. Valentine lurched up to brace his paws on the mattress side and licked rapidly at the sweat slicked flesh of Dean's palms, trying to comfort the man in his nightmares.

Celia reached across Dean's back and pressed the heel of her free hand into one side of Dean's spine directly between his shoulders and the rest of her hand across the column of bones, her fingers curling to press into the flesh on the other side of the backbone. She took a deep breath, praying quietly that her all but non-existent knowledge of acupressure wouldn't hurt him. Celia leaned up, putting her shoulder directly over her hand and an unnatural amount of pressure down on her hand and dragged her hand down the length of Dean's spine, making the pressure constant and unwavering. Dean's eyes flashed open briefly, unseeing and glazed in the nightmare then shut tight again as he arched against her touch. Celia relaxed the weight on her hand at the base of his spinal column and Dean went limp. Stretched out on his side chest heaving, eyes half lidded and Celia was oddly reminded of a rabbit she'd come up on once. The animal had been practically torn in half, clinging to life. Dean was making the same noises and breathing the same shallow way the rabbit had.

He was still shivering violently but the chaotic jerking had ended, the danger hadn't ended yet. He didn't seem to be inhaling at all, just sharp passes of air out of his lungs.

"Don't hyperventilate now." Celia soothed and released her hold on his wrists. Her skin peeling away from his like it had been fused with the heat of his fever. She grabbed the wet wash cloth and pressed it into the back of his neck. Dean's eyes flashed again, his body giving a last pained jerk of exhaustion before giving over to the sensation. Celia made sure the cool fabric was pressed into his jugular vein, chilling the blood.

"_Mni._" She breathed quietly, the water in the fabric of the cloth chilled, almost freezing around his neck. She considered for a minute doing the same to Dean's blood directly. Human blood was ninety percent water, she could shut down his fever with a few beats of his heart, sending frosted blood and plasma through his muscles and organs.

But that could easily go bad and she would NOT be responsible for the death of a Winchester.

But he was to hot.

She held back, biting her lip and reach up with her free hand to place her fingering tips at his temple. She ground her teeth, drew her hand back again and clenched her fingers in a fist and grit her teeth.

**Control first, **she ordered herself, **ya can't risk losin' control here.**

_What's the use of being able to do these sort of thin's if ya can't help the ones ya care about…_

She needed help and advice, she was torn. Lost back to a girl without the same wisdom that she had now, unsure and uncertain with two realities weighing on the single choice she made now.

**I've been fightin' this damn monster for so long…if I lost it…**

"Fuck it all to hell."

Celia reached out, pressing her hand flat against the side of Dean's head, the center of her palm on his temple. Her fingers stretched around his ear and threading into his hair, sunlight caught the locks and cast tongues of flame between her fingers. Dean's eyes opened wide sunder the strength of the touch.

Celia grit her teeth and spoke quickly, honing all her focus and setting bars of will power in place to keep control.

"_Mni…Baa' ogwaibaidu peeppin bihyi. Bohagandi Ahote. Baa' ogwaibaidu peeppin bihyi."_

Dean gasped wetly, the flesh under her hand cooled by degrees, dropping to a comforting cold that eased the fires in his nightmare and body. He swallowed dryly.

**…**

_The coyote continued to shake his torn throat, dragging him lower into the water. The coyote swallowed around his neck, drinking down the flowing blood, claws tore into his shoulders and side, slashing across his back. The coyote's jaws loosened only to shift forward snapping shut again. Driving its teeth home again, then another loosening and shift forward. Dean gasped, his neck arching, a sickening crunch echoing in his ears as the coyote's teeth scored across his spinal column, snapping the muscle and sinew and nerves._

_The damn thing was trying to sever his head from his body._

_A shadow passed at Dean's vision. He blinked blearily, trying to see around the coyote's ears. The shape moved rapidly through the water, Dean could feel the movement of water. _

_The coyote stilled on its onslaught of his throat, it's ears flashed forward and it let go of its death hold to turn and meet the shadow a little to late. The shape burst out of the water, jaws flung wide it roared and slammed its maw shut over the coyote's back, teeth sinking into the coyote's sides and between the ribs. The coyote wailed in pain and trashed violently. _

_Dean's savior what a mosaic of animals. The forelimbs, torso and head of a cougar, its size tripled. A set of antelope horns burst between the cat's ears, curving up and splitting halfway up into two tines. The waist tapered into a length of scaled muscle of a water moccasin. The cat's eyes flashed at Dean, narrowing in the massive skull. _

_Dean drifted in the water, his vision blurred. The image of the cat flickered, warping like a bad television connection. Dean blinked, trying to clear his vision. The cat warped into a different animal. A lupine, a wolf, long jaws still sunk deep into the coyote's back and sides. Its four hook clawed paws each the size of a truck tire paddled slowly in the black water. A set of ram's horns grew from it's skull, splitting for half to rise up in tongs and the other half curing down around its ears and jaw, a set of feather wings grew from the shoulders and drifted uselessly in the water. White coat streaked in red and black and blood red eyes glared out at him with a hate and malice it set to the massive jaws trying to bite the coyote in half. _

_One second it was the wolf, flickered and then the cougar._

_Dean hated and feared them both on sight. The coyote wailed in pain, stretching at its assailants eyes and jaws with no luck._

_Dean made a drugged effort to swim away. A hand wrapped suddenly around his wrist, pulling up until another hand reached to hook under his elbow and pulled his head above the water._

_Dean gasped, his head and shoulders bursting through the glass like surface and he took a starved breath of air. _

**…**

Dean resurfaced, his eyes opening clearly and a smooth breath of air flowed out from his lungs in a sigh. His entire form went limp, not a single muscle twitched and for a brief terrifying instant Celia though him dead.

Dean breathed in slow and pained. Celia breathed out, choking back a gut wrenching sob.

The he started coughing, violently. Celia drew her hand back from his head, her fingers brushing briefly through his short hair. She pulled the wash cloth off of his neck as Dean tried to push himself up, his arms shaking uncontrollably with the effort.

Dean hacking in air to his starved lungs and swallowed thickly, he licked his lips and felt something warm and bitter tasting metallic on his lips. Celia reached out and brushed two of her fingers under his nose, they came away slicked with Dean's blood. Dean lifted a jerking hand to wipe away the remaining blood flow on the back of it, his arm flung out as he started to topple under his own weight.

"Sit up Dean." Celia managed after she'd gained enough composure to speak without waver in her voice. He only shook his head in response, his arms and legs shaking so hard that Celia could feel it through the mattress. She knew he was going to collapse and quickly reached across his face with the wash cloth and wiped the blood away from his nose and lips, she ducked her hand under his chest to wipe the blood off of his hand and barely got away with not having her arm pinned under Dean's weight.

He let out a wet gasp of pain and he cross folded his arms and fell down into the mattress on his chest and stomach, his forehead pressed into one of his forearms.

"Dean? Ya alright? Ya had a bad nightmare." She pressed gently.

"Y…yeah…'m fine…" He rasped painfully, the noise muffled and weak and spoken into the masttress. Celia let out sigh of relief and gently patted the small of his back. She tensed, the shirt was sweat soaked but the skin under her hand felt rough and raised oddly through the shirt. She gently pushed the material up from his skin. Dean let out a gentle hiss of pain.

Celia jaw tightened and she almost roared in rage. She pushed his shirt up and away from his side.

His back and ribs were scored with claw marks, shallow gouges slowly starting to seep blood but at the same time trying to close up and heal as quickly as possible, leaving welts in his flesh. Carefully Celia leaned forward and pulled down Dean's collar and looked at his shoulder and neck. The scratches were deeper and heavier there but healing just as quickly.

Celia bit back a snarl, staying utterly silent and she leaned over the side of the bed, looking hard at the wood floor. Nothing.

She reached across to the window, pulled back the curtain and cursed inwardly. Blood streaked the windowsill, a single defined paw print in blood pressed on the glass. A coyote paw print…in Dean's blood.

"Unanni I'm going to lay ya out for the crows for touchin' him." Celia spat.

Valentine whined quietly, looking between his mistress and new charge. Dean had already slumped limply into an exhaustion induced sleep, so close to a coma that it could have been defined as just that. Celia checked that he was breathing evenly then went to the bathroom to wet the cloth all over again.

The whole ordeal had lasted maybe a minuet or two. Celia turned, wringing out the cloth and starting for the door. She missed a step, almost tripping as pain crashed into her full fledged. The headache seared like fire across her brain. Pounding and slamming into her repeatedly. She could hear the unearthly snarling in her ears and she gasped wetly and braced a hand against her skull. She ground her teeth together and shivered, waiting until it passed as she forced the pain down and away, her will power almost shattering.

If Sam had experience that flash of pain he would have begged to have his visions back.

Celia breathed the pain out, blinking slowly and lifted a hand to wipe the blood away from her nose, She smeared the blood on the leg of her jeans, and walked back to Dean's side. Valentine had taken advantage of her absence and climbed up next to him on the bed, curling against Dean's frame. He whimpered pitifully.

"Down, baby ya can have him back in a minute." Celia soothed, petting the white dog's ears gently and letting him get out of the way. Celia knelt next to Dean, pushing his shirt up and gently running the wet cloth over his irritated skin, most of the cuts and scratches had already healed up, a few were still closing. She washed his sides, successfully drawing the blood and sweat off of his skin. His skin was a shade cooler, the fever had dropped slightly and stabilized. She worked around him then scrubbed the blood off the windowsill and glass, snarling quietly under her breath as she did.

She rose and let Valentine leap back up onto the bed side. The white dog wiggled as close to Dean as he could manage and draped his large head across Dean's shoulder. Valentine let out a sigh as ease over came him. He knew that Celia could always set things right, she'd only done it again.

"Protect him now, Valentine. The Coyote knows where he is, probably did the whole time." Celia stepped out of the room with a quiet growl and threw the wash cloth into the bathroom with more venom than necessary. She stalked down the hall and marched up the stairs to the second floor.

"Red?" Sam asked as she stalked briefly in and then out of his sight.

She'd only been gone five minuets but she looked like she'd just been through a fight. Sam rose and followed almost instinctively to find out what was wrong and what she was doing. He bounded up the steps and headed towards Celia's room.

Celia pulled a key from around her neck as she crossed quickly to the glass faced cabinet. She unlocked the door and pulled them open. She shuffled though the contents pushing things gingerly out of the way then lifted a sun bleached and dried bone from a ceramic bowl of bits of bones. She turned it over, inspecting it briefly before putting it back, reaching back in and coming up with two other small bits of bone. She looked at them hard and put one back.

"Otter." She said to herself holding the remaining cut of bone in her hand, reached into a different bowl, making the same search and came up with a single curved tooth which she bit down on to keep a hold of and shutting the case doors and relocking them as Sam walked in the door.

Celia pulled the bone hilted dagger from her hip and set to work on the small chunk of bone as she walked back out of her room. Sam stepping out of the way of so she could pass by him back out into the hall and down the stairs. Sam turned on his heel to keep up. She was carving away at the bone, making precise and practiced moves of the blade to cut out the shape she wanted.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked inquisitively.

"I'm…"Celia dipped the point of the blade carefully into bone and puffed air across it, then went back to cutting the bone, walking purposefully into the kitchen. "I'm carving a charm for yer brother." She said simply.

"A charm?" Sam asked as she pulled open a drawer, leaving off her carving to rummage and came up with a length of leather thong. "What for?"

"He's havin' nightmares. I snapped him out of one just now." Celia said blatantly.

"What? Nightmares? How bad?"

"Bad." She said simply holding up the small carving in the light, inspecting it and nodded her approval. "Charm like this should help keep them at bay."

"What kind of charm?" Sam asked quietly.

"Otter shoulder bone." Celia muttered and showed it to him. In its brief minuets in Celia's hand the rough bone had been carved into shape, simplistic and elegant and above all tribal. It looked like and 'S' curve, a rounded bulge with a slight point at one end that tapered to a slightly curved point. Tiny curves dipped in to mark a fore paw and hind paw pressed into the arched belly. Tiny marks cut ears and whiskers and a dip for the eye. It was about an inch and a half long and an inch and a half wide. She turned back to the work, setting the point of the blade below the place where the neck was connecting to the head. She spun the blade expertly, easily 'drilling' a hole in the totem's shoulder.

"A ferret?"

"An otter." Celia muttered, setting the bone charm aside she spit out the object into her hand and rubbed her fingers over it to dry off the saliva. It was tooth, sharp and small, she easily used the tip of the blade to carve out a hole for the leather and then set the edge of the blade and etched a spiral pathway around the tooth surface, starting at the base and down to the tip.

"Why an otter?" Sam said sharply, was she actually going to lure death down on his brother with a charm like this.

'_Cause it's the animal he was born under,_ she said to herself, "'Round here they're guardians. They're a symbol of change, spiritual strength and healing energy. They balance the soul and steady it too." Celia assured. "They're good medicine, not bad…like a coyote." She muttered the last of it and Sam twitched slightly.

"Good medicine?...You believe in the occult, I thought you were a Christian." Sam muttered.

"I am a Christian by raisin', my blood lines the old Native ways. I've sort of…mixed 'em up." Celia looped the leather thong through the hole in the otter carving and then the tooth and twisted a small knot, trapping the charm in place backed by the tooth.

"The old ways?"

"Good medicine, Sammy. I'm well practiced, if I offend ya in away for it, I apologize. But sometimes gotta do what ya gotta do." She held the totem in her left hand over the sink and quickly drew the knife across her palm and closed her hand over the bone charm, the leather and tooth hanging out of her grip. Sam jumped and stared at her, blood slowly seeping out of her clenched fist and dripping into the sink. When she opened her palm the charm was soaked a dark red color.

She slipped the bone hilt dagger back into its sheath and lifted the charm with her uncut hand, she turned on the faucet, hot water gushing out. Celia flinched as she pushed her hand under the scalding water for a few seconds and sufficiently stopping the blood flow from her palm. She breathed over the bone charm a few times, the blood turning dark red and drying rapidly.

She turned and walked back towards the guest room. She crossed and knelt next to Dean. He'd settled more comfortably into the mattress, turning his head so he could breathe and he shivered a few times in thankfully dreamless sleep as a chill tried to set in but couldn't quite take hold. Valentine lifted his head and whined quietly, pinning his ears. Sam hovered in the doorway, trying to process what he was seeing. Celia held the charm to hang above Dean's sleeping face and spoke quietly.

Sam recognized the first prayer as Latin, the same prayer that he and Dean and John before them used to bless holy water. The next was said in a smooth quiet language that Sam didn't know or understand though from his limited experience of western movies and what Celia had said he assumed a Native American dialect. Of which one he couldn't sure. Celia moved the totem over Dean's face, first making the sign of the cross. Then a second time to point all four points. North, South, East and West. She hesitated trying to draw up a memory but it was out of her reach. She turned to Sam.

"Is he right handed or left handed?" She asked.

"Right." Sam replied automatically. Celia nodded and lifted the limp right hand and wrapped the leather thong securely around his wrist and knotted it. She gingerly set his hand back onto the mattress. Valentine whined and dropped his head back across Dean's shoulder. Celia briefly ran her hand soothingly across the small of Dean's back. His muscles twitched instinctively in reaction to the touch but he stayed asleep.

The breathing was even, slow and drawn. For that Celia was thankful, but it was still tight and congested, dry and his fever was still steady. His pallor was off, and he wasn't sweating. She glanced at the almost empty bottle of Gatorade and decided that of Halen wasn't here in half an hour she would wake him up and force another down his throat.

"Alright." She muttered and rose up, stretching and feeling stiff.

"What did you do?" Sam asked quietly, not wanting to wake his brother up.

"Wardin' off bad medicine." Celia supplied, walking towards him and forcing the taller and heavier man to back up as she pulled the door half shut behind her.

"Nightmares?" Sam muttered. Celia nodded and started for the kitchen, stopped and looked up the stairs for a second, ground her teeth together for a second then started back up the flight to the second floor. Sam was tempted to go in and sit at his brother's side but looked up the stairs as Celia disappeared out of sight. He was torn. Suspicions were starting to cut into him, he was suddenly unsure of Celia was someone safe to associate with.

Sam knew the power of charms and amulets all to well, and they could be extremely dangerous if charged incorrectly. But from what he knew and observed he knew two things: Celia had done everything right on what seemed a very complex blessing and that she was well practiced as she said. Sam glared up at the stairs, grit his teeth and reached down to pat the side of his boot, checking to make sure his dagger was still fixed in place. If worse came to wear he could probably disarm Celia of her own weapon and use it against her.

Before he could make a full decision Celia came treading down the stairs, hard at work at another piece of bone and something clenched in her teeth, carving quickly and efficiently. Like before she walked straight into the kitchen and rooting in the drawer came up with a bit of wire and a strand of leather thong.

Caution and curiosity overloaded Sam's systems and he carefully walked to stand next to her, his frame rigid and guarded, ready for anything.

"What are you doing now?"

He tried to keep his voice confused and light but Celia caught the tension and underlying venom. She stopped in her work and looked at him briefly for a second before turning back to her carving.

"Figured I'd make ya a charm, too." She said around what ever it was between her teeth, again setting the tip of the blade into the back of the shape, spinning it and cutting out a hole for the leather.

"An otter?"

"No, a beaver." She muttered briefly flashed the miniature totem at him. Another impressively simple and elegant carving of a beaver in the same traditional style. A rounded shape dips into the sides carved out a neck and tail, a beaver from the view above. Like Sam was looking down on one's back in the water, a tiny cut marks for nose, eyes and ears, the hole cut into its neck and careful cross hatching on the tail.

"A beaver."

"Yep."

"Why a beaver?"

"Ya strike me as a beaver." Celia sighed as if irritated. She palmed the totem and took the object from between her teeth and set the blade tip into the base of the curved object.

"What is that?"

"Beaver tooth." She muttered, giving a tiny expert scoop into one side then turned it over and made the same cut on the other side, she used the blade tip to break out the rest of the hole and breathed over the tooth. Then in a quick movement she cut into the squarish tooth and within a second it had taken a flat spiral shape. She looped the thong through the beaver carving then through the spiraled tooth and knotted them carefully, the same way she had Dean's.

Then she palmed the beaver and before Sam could protest she drew the blade across her palm and soaked the beaver in blood. She flinched and instead of waiting for it to dry muttered the same prayers in Latin, then the Native language. She made the same motions, the holy cross then the four directions. When she opened her palm the bone was stained the same dark red. Taking it in her free hand she again ran her cut hand under scalding water and stopping the bleeding again. She breathed over the totem, making sure it was dry.

"Here Sam." She let out a pained breath, like she was exhausted. She held out the totem to him and shook out her cut hand.

"Red-" Sam hesitated in taking the totem, eyeing it nervously.

"Sam. Please. Ya and yer brother seem to attract trouble, hell they're drinkin' pink lemonade over ya. Do me this favor. For my own sanity and take it. Please." Celia said tiredly.

Sam felt the tension in his shoulders coil until he almost couldn't breathe. Then he let it go, the concern and sincerity in her eyes and the slow trickle of blood starting from her hand again. Sam swallowed dryly.

The suspicion was still there, nervous and lingering and nagging at him.

But it was a different feeling now. More like the push he'd felt with Roy LeGrange. Before they'd found out about the reaper. That there was something going on that he didn't know about or understand yet. Wither it was on reaper bad kind of terms yet was still in the air, but for now Sam could see that she really did want to help him. Help them. _Was_ helping them.

Sam reached out and took the charm from her hand, the carved bone was dry but still the same dark red.

"Thank you, Red." He said quietly, sincere right down to his bones and started to wrap the totem around his wrist.

"Yer neck, Sammy. It works better. Only put it on Dean's wrist 'cause I didn't want to give him a spinal injury haulin' his head up." Celia rubbed a hand across her forehead and started out of the kitchen and heading towards the couch. Sam reached around his head and tied the charm tightly around his neck.

_Why a beaver?_ He thought, tracing the shape with his fingers and arching his neck trying to look down at it.

"Red why a-" His voice died, he was alone in the kitchen. Well except for the two dogs under the table. "Red?"

He walked quickly out of the kitchen and into the living room in time to hear a tight sigh released. He walked up to the back of the couch and leaned over, Celia had settled herself down on her back, tugging her hat down over her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest.

"You alright?" Sam asked gently, worry spiking through the wariness.

"Nope." Celia muttered quietly.

There was a rattling knock and both Buckshot and Alamo let out deep baritone barks. Celia groaned and let out a pained sigh.

"Mark Halen that better be ya!" She barked loudly. Sam twisted around to look at the back door, he saw a man standing on the other side of the screen door.

"Yes ma'am." The man called and casually pulled the screen door open and stepped into the kitchen, a younger man followed on his heels.

Celia grumbled and sat up, looking over the back of her couch and setting her hat back into place on her head without taking it off her head.

"Yer early Mark, late from the beginin' but early for what ya said. Hey Matt." The younger man lifted his hand and smiled quietly. He was a mousey blonde man, slighter and thinner than was normal for a country doctor, but everyone in town had a notion that Matthew Lynch, the eldest of the Lynch siblings would fill out his shoulders as he matured.

"Well it was a bit of an ordeal." Mark Halen sighed heavily and stepped into the room. He was an older man, maybe a few years older than fifty. His cinnamon hair had gone mousy with grey streaks. His face lined with years of experience and hardship. But like all other desert men his shoulders and chest were wide, giving him a solid and deep voice and a sturdy stance. His hands were large and nicked, discolored with scars. He was tall, probably taller than Sam. Suspicion confirmed when the man stretched to his full height and was easily an inch or two taller. He smiled gently.

Halen's good and kind nature was disrupted gruesomely by the fact that his slacks and shirt were drenched in blood.

Celia winced. "God, Doc, ya look like ya rooted 'round in the inside of a steer."

"Yer not to good yerself." He motioned at Celia's slowly drying and forgotten clothes. "Might as well have been." Halen sighed, unconsciously wiping his hands off on his bloodied shirt. There was a note of sadness and weariness in his voice.

"Kurt alright?" Celia asked, a heavy worry in her voice.

Halen sighed and shook his head. "He's in a bad way, if there's no change in two hours I'm callin' for a chopper to take him in to Elko."

Celia hissed, her eyes flickering nervously and sympathetically. "How's Abigail?"

Halen shook his head and again. "She's gonna stay with her momma tonight. I don't think she could take goin' to Elko."

"She always was a fragile one. Not really meant for the desert." Celia sighed, finally pushing herself up to her feet.

"I'm worried for her health. I have a bad notion she'll die of heart break and loneliness if Kurt kicks off." Halen swallowed thickly.

"He'll be fine Mark. Kurt's got his jaws locked on life. He's to stubborn to kick off while ya still owe him money from that ball game a month ago." Celia assured with as much humor as she could muster at the thought of Kurt Cree dying on a stretcher. Halen smiled and gave a faux annoyed sigh. "Yer right, girl. What was I thinkin'."

The slip of a man, Matt let some of the tension flow from his body with a slight smile. Halen clapped Celia gently on the shoulder.

"Now. Let's have a look at these boys. Young man. Doctor Marcus Halen." Halen held out his massive hand to Sam.

"Sam Wilson." Sam offered, taking the hand and shaking it once.

"Nice to meet ya Mister Wilson. This is my associate Matthew Lynch. Yer the one with-" Halen looked at Celia as Matt reach across and took Sam's hand with a soft hello.

"Sunburn." She provided.

"Alright. Go on and sit in the kitchen there while I put a clean shirt on. Sorry 'bout the mess." Halen reached into his medicinal satchel and pulled out a fresh shirt and headed for the bathroom.

Matt stepped out of the way as Sam crossed back into the kitchen and sank down into the chair that he had started to consider his own. He watched Halen slip out of sight. Matt settled into the chair across from Sam and started a fresh file, pulling out a clean manila folder and writing 'Wilson, Sam' on the tab and started a fresh set of paperwork. Sam reached up and lightly touched the beaver charm around his neck, trading it for his normal nervous tick of tugging at his ear. Like his father and older brother before him, Sam was a true blood Winchester and got nervous around anyone of the medical profession. As Celia walked passed him reached out and for the first time initiated physical contact, taking her wrist in his larger hand and tugging her towards him.

"Red…I'm sorry to ask but who's Kurt?" He said quietly. His eyes flicked nervously to Matt who glanced up at them before returning to the paper work.

Celia smiled gently at Sam and swallowed back a lump in her throat.

"Kurt Cree is Rosa Greer's youngest brother. He's my uncle by my adoption."

Sam looked shocked and suddenly regretted asking but he couldn't help himself. "What happened to him?"

Celia sighed heavily, "He colicked is the best we can figure. Woke up one day with his gut twisted in a knot. He didn't bother havin' it looked at for a week. Now…well ya can figure." Celia said with a nervous shrug. The whole family was nervous about it. Celia had hid her fear and nervousness from Sam flawlessly when the call came in. Now seeing Halen covered in Kurt's blood it seemed like a bad omen, but she had already carved a totem for Kurt and it was out of her hands now except for prayers and good wishes.

"Red, I'm sorry." Sam said sympathetically. His overlarge and soft heart wrenching painfully for her ordeal and he squeezed her wrist gently, trying to offer some kind of comfort. Celia gave him a weak smile. She was defiantely starting to wear down.

"Alright Mr. Wilson, lets have a look at ya." Halen had hesitated in the kitchen entrance and raised his eyebrow at Celia as she smoothly pulled her wrist from Sam's grip.

"Have at him Doc." Celia said with a wave at the young man. Sam's nervousness returned full fledged. Mark Halen went over Sam's frame carefully, his hands light and his touch practiced so as not to irritate Sam's sun bitten skin. All the while asking questions, which Sam answered as truthfully as he could while Matt scribbled out answers in the paperwork. Finally the scrutiny subsided and Sam felt a breath of relief ease from his chest.

"Well, Mister Wilson. Ya've got one hell of a burn. Ya said ya were out in the sun for four hours?" Halen asked. Sam nodded. "Well boy, it's a second degree and yer gonna feel pinched until ya peel."

"Peel?" Sam asked nervously, not liking the sound of it at all.

"Just a few layers of yer skin. Ya shed skin cells all the time. It's just gonna be a little rougher this time because yer gonna notice. Red, I'm gonna prescribe mild painkiller for the next five days." Celia nodded quietly. "Mister Wilson if ya run out of the prescript and ya aren't over yer burn just start usin' aspirin. I'm also gonna give ya a double dose of cortisone. It'll knock ya out so I want ya to go lie down as soon as were done here."

Sam nodded quietly in understanding. Looking over the paperwork and signing where he needed to.

"Sam ya can crash in the second floor quest room." Celia told him. Sam nodded again, not willing to put up much fight.

"Alright, why don't ya give Matt here a quick rundown on yer brother and I'll go have a look at him." Halen said, filling two syringes with cortisone and deftly tying off Sam's bicep with a strand of surgical tubing. Sam flinched as the first needle slid home into a vein at the crook of his elbow and whimpered quietly when the second one hit the same mark. Halen untied the tubing and lifted Sam's arm up over his head. Within seconds Sam already started feeling a little drowsy. He wasn't completely aware of Celia and Halen walking out of the room and answered Matt's questions all over again as the young man put another file together under the name: Wilson, Dean.

**…**

Valentine dropped down to the floor and sat back waiting until the doctor and Celia were finished looking over Dean. She's grabbed a Gatorade and as Dean came awake she forced it one him. Her threat of an i.v. supported by Halen's presence.

"Dean Wilson?" Halen asked quietly, Dean's bleary and uncomprehending eyes turn on him. They cleared slowly and he nodded.

"I'm Doctor Marcus Halen, Red gave me a call and asked to come have a look at ya. Do ya mind if I have a look at ya?"

"Sure." Dean managed out after a few attempts.

She sat next to the elder Winchester, waiting quietly as Halen gave Dean a thorough exam. She smiled encouragingly to Dean when Halen asked him questions, shone a light in his eyes, pressed a stethoscope into Dean's ribs making the young man hiss quietly in pain, and made a silent assessment of what was wrong with him. Dean seemed to be clearing up by the second, becoming coherent and even a little skeptical as the exam progressed.

"Are we done yet?" He sighed, his voice a pained rasp and annoyed by the end but it was a halfhearted and weak response compared to the sharp remarks he could make when he was in good condition.

"Yes were are. Mister Wilson, Red's got it right. Yer in a bad way, ya have been sufferin' a severe case of heat stroke, as well as dehydration and ya have some sunburn, too. Yer gonna be sick for a while yet, but with Red here yer gonna be back on yer feet in a few days so long as ya take it easy."

"Sure..whatever…"Dean managed to breath out, keeping himself from breaking into a coughing fit by drinking some of the Gatorade in his hands, his movements were shaky and his effort to be aware and coherent through the exam grabbed a hold of him full fledged and started to drag him back down to unconsciousness. Celia took the bottle out of his hand before it spilled.

Neither Halen or Celia tried to stop him when he sprawled back out onto his side. His eyes stayed open, but glazed. He'd decided that he'd had enough sleep and wanted to stay awake now. He wished he had one of the pills bottles in his reach. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Celia's eyes flicked to Halen's. The slight shake of the doctor's head told her that he heard the tightness and pained rush of air. He motioned her to follow him out. Celia glanced down at Dean and again gently passed her hand across the small of his back. Dean's eyes flickered shut and he arched up towards her touch in response. He let out a quiet gasp and as soon as her hand left his back he slumped back into the mattress. Celia had barely rose up to her feet before Valentine rushed back to his place, happy to settled back against Dean's stomach and legs, draping his head again over Dean's hip. Dean watched Celia's back as she left the room. He fingered the totems and leather around his wrist, trying to remember where it had come from; but his vision was starting to swim and he swallowed dryly as he felt his chest tighten and a new wave of heat come down on him.

**…**

"Well, what ya say Mark?" Celia asked as they walked down the hall towards the kitchen. Halen sighed and glanced briefly into the kitchen, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Matt as to where Sam was. Matt casually pointed with his pen towards the couch. Celia and Halen both glanced over the back of the couch and Celia snorted. Sam might as well have been comatose, sprawled akimbo on his back and his jaw slung open awkwardly.

"Figures. Ya double dosed him." She reached out with some mild annoyance, settled her palm under Sam's hanging jaw and shut it forcibly for him. Sam jerked and swatted at her in his sleep but didn't wake up and his mouth stayed shut.

"If he's anythin' like yer brother he'll be out until the mornin'." Halen shrugged.

"About Dean?" Celia asked. "Ya gonna write me somthin' to bring to Matt later?" She motioned at the training doctor who had his hand and pen poised over a prescription pad, waiting for Halen's command.

"Are ya aware of that boys condition?" Halen asked quietly.

"He's got heat stroke, dehydration and sunburn and if he gets coherent in the middle of it all he's gonna be nothing but trouble for the pain he'll be in." She hesitated when Halen slowly shook his head. Celia sighed in annoyance and growled at the old doctor. "What aren't ya tellin' me Mark?"

"Ya wouldn't notice it over the obvious symptoms. That boy is sufferin' from withdrawal." Halen sighed. Celia stiffened and grit her jaw, setting her hand on her hips.

"Like substance abuse kind of withdrawal?" She almost spat, hiding and almost crippling anger bubbling in her chest.

Halen nodded. "I cain't be sure what from, though, not through the heat stroke."

"Sonofabitch." She snarled, "Sam?"

Halen shook his head, "Dean's the only one usin' evidently. I won't prescribe anythin' to keep from mutilatin' his system anymore, much less hook him on one more thing. He's gonna be in a lot of pain for a while. It only looks like its just getting' started."

"Sonofabitch. I do not need this!" Celia threw her head back crushed her palms into her eyes.

"Red, these boys aren't yer responsibility. Ya don't have to deal with this, turn 'em loose." Halen grunted in his eyes a simple solution.

"The hell Marcus!" Celia cursed defensively and bristling at the idea of turning her back on the Winchesters. "Never, Mark. These are Mary and John's boys."

Halen looked shocked. Leaning over the couch to look down at the dead to the world young man whose jaw fell open and was starting to drool a little.

"Are ya joshin' me?" Halen muttered.

Celia shook his head, "They are my problem." She glanced at Sam and made a slightly disgusted noise and reached across, cupped Sam's jaw and pushed his mouth shut again. Halen sighed and nodded his head, Celia tensed when she realized what she'd said.

"Marcus Halen not a word of this to yer wife!" She snapped dangerously. Halen looked shocked for a bit, then nodded. Not daring to question someone raised by Rosa and Nathaniel Greer when it came to keeping a mouth shut.

"Alright Red. Don't worry 'bout it."

"Ya neither Matt Lynch." The smaller man nodded quietly and said nothing, ducking his face under Celia's deadly gaze.

"Don't worry Red, patient confidentiality and all that." Halen assured her. Celia nodded quietly, feeling a little at ease that died just as quickly when the full situation went crashed back into her. Sam and Dean were both in bad shape. Dean more so and evidently he'd been using, something. She decided as soon as she had a chance she was going to go through Dean's gear and find out exactly what he'd been dumping into his system.

"So-" She asked Halen without asking.

"Treat him as ya have, keep a close eye on him and treat him just like a bad case of the stroke. Forget 'bout the withdrawal. If ya restrict everythin' that goes into his system same way that ya do for the stroke his systems should be flushed by Monday or so. Then ya can tear into his hide for it. If anyone can clean 'em up its ya." Halen ordered. "No prescriptions, yer gonna even have to keep an eye on aspirin and coffee intake. Any caffeines. I advise ya he needs to sleep and sweat this out."

"Of course, Mark. Thanks. I appreciate it. I come by the office and pay ya later."

Halen shook his head and held up his hand. "Don't worry 'bout it, pay for the 'scripts. On the house for Mary and John's boys."

"They'll appreciate it, but keep it out of the public eye Mark. Please." Celia asked quietly. Halen smiled gently and nodded. He and Matt gathered their equipment, left her with the prescription for Sam and promised a call as soon as Kurt Cree showed any change, good or bad. As soon as the two medics were out of the door and heading across the yard for Halen's Ford F150 Celia rushed to the mud room and yanked open the washing machine. She plunged her hand into the churning water, rummaged around and finally pulled out Dean's jeans. She forced the pockets open and dug into each one until she hit jackpot. She pulled free a plastic pill bottle, the white cap snuggly locked onto the orange plastic base. She twisted it and looked at the label, peeling and smeared from the water and read the label.

"Trypto-Methamphetamine for Ringo Star prescribed by Doctor Paul McCartney. God above, do pharmacists even care anymore?" Celia growled. She hung her head and grumbled.

Her cell phone rang loudly. She jumped a little and dropped Dean's jeans back into the washing machine. She reached into her still drying pocket and pulled out her cell, flipping the black phone open.

"Red." She grumbled into the phone with more venom then she would have normally.

"_Celia, honey, don't lay into the boy just yet. He's not aware of what he's doing_." A honey sweet, Kansan voice answered.

* * *

**No one freak. I made up the 'trypto-methamphetamine' stuff. I'm no med student…**

**According to the common Native American zodiac Dean Winchester was born January 24, 1979 under the Otter totem. Sam Winchester was born May 2, 1983 under the Beaver totem. **

**For all of you that didn't understand what Celia earlier in the chapter, it was in Shoshoni Indian language, no freebee translations, you'll have to do it yourself. But "**_**Mni**_**" is Lakota Indian for 'water', that's all you'll get. **

**Anyone want to make a guess what Celia is yet? A true faith healer? A shaman or medicine man? Elementalist? Maybe something else?**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	7. The Physic Hotline

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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****Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche

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**Chapter Seven: The Physic Hotline**

"**The true secret of giving advice is, after you have honestly given it, to be perfectly indifferent whether it is taken or not, and never persist in trying to set people right." **

**-Hannah Whitall Smith**

**…**

Celia tensed in confusion, turning the pill bottle hand over in her hand.

"Excuse me?" She asked tersely.

"_You heard me, girl."_ The same honey voice said over the line. _"Don't go tearing into Dean just yet."_

"Who is this?" Celia snarled low and dangerous.

"_Oh darlin', this is Missouri, don't tell me you're starting to forget things, too."_

"Missouri?"

"_Missouri Mosley, down in Lawrence Kansas, Celia."_

Irritation and stress finally was starting to get to her, Celia breathed out trying to settle her anger and licked the roof of her mouth to calm herself. "Ma'am, I'm not aware of anyone named Mosley in Lawrence. I think you have the wrong number-"

"_Young lady don't you dare hang up that phone!"_

"Have a nice day ma'am." Celia snapped her phone shut with a sniff and set it on the table as she scoured Dean's jacket, coming up with two more pill bottles. One of caffeine pills and the other some drug she'd never heard off. Both written by and prescribed to different rock stars.

"Honestly." She muttered, setting down a bottle telling 'Joe DiMaggio' only to take as needed. The bottle was only a third of the way full and the fill date was barely a week prior. "He's goin' through these damn things like candy."

Her cell phone buzzed to life. Celia reached out and flipped it open, setting it in the crook of her shoulder and ear as she continued to rummage though Dean's jacket coming up with another bottle of methamphetamines. How the hell does he stash it all?

"Red."

"_Celia Mihkwaw Northwind-Greer don't ya dare hang up that phone again or I will come up there and knock some sense into you!" _Missouri Mosley's voice barked authoritatively over the phone line. Celia started, like all young people did, at the use of her full name.

"Ma'am-"

"_Don't you 'ma'am' me, young lady. Now you listen to me and listen good. I know about you and those boys and I know about what's happening to Dean as much as I know about what's happening to Sam. Get a hold on that mean streak of yours and just listen to me for a minuet!"_

Celia was coiled so tightly she wasn't aware that she was grinding her teeth. It was true she did have a streak in her, but she could control it easy as she could breathe. Or at least that's what she thought personally. It was an insult to her that someone, a complete stranger over the phone was daring to suggest otherwise. It was a stereotype that small towns in America ran mostly on the steam of their own pride and tradition. It wasn't a stereotype that went unsupported and Celia was no different than any small town girl that had willingly turned on her back for a 'good' life in town. She was pretty enough, smart enough, talented enough and had all the traits that if she so much as stepped foot into a true city the door to opportunity and luxury would have been torn off its hinges for her. Celia had hometown and personal pride that she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin and sneered as she watched countless local girls go tearing off for the horizon without looking back and saw them as cowardly traitors.

To have that questioned boiled the blood more than any persistent phone call would have. The woman on the other end would have been better off taunting a rattle snake.

"_Celia don't you dare get worked up at me for no reason more than pride. You better deflate yourself this second. Calm down. You'll wake Sam up hollering at me. Dean, too. Lord knows that boy needs the sleep."_

Celia's blood froze.

"How-"

"_I'm telepathic, honey. The emotional mine field over there keeps exploding and I can feel it from here!" _Missouri barked like an overly excited mother.

Celia snarled low under her breath. "A seer? Ya a goddamn seer. Fuckin' _buidaigwade_. Don't call this number again!" Celia hissed and snapped the phone shut again and tossed it onto the table top. She stormed out of the kitchen and across the porch. The caramel colored German shepherd Buckshot lurched up to his paws and trotted towards the door; the dog nudged it open and loped across the veranda, down the stairs and across the yard after Celia. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the sound of the cell phone ringing. He whined quietly but kept his jaws shut for the time being. Celia hauled herself up on the flat bed with the Impala. She pulled open the driver's seat and sat down on the edge of the leather seat and rummage under the driver's seat, then the passenger seat, she breathed a sigh of relief at finding nothing and flipped open the glove compartment. Nothing in the space and she pulled out the wooden box and flipped it open. She sighed and actually smiled good naturedly at the assorted badges and fake identification cards. She held one up.

"Homeland Security. Huh? That some serious sand to pack there, Dean." She said to herself and dropped the i.d. back into the box, shut it and put it back into the glove compartment. She pushed herself out of the front seat, shut the door and slipped into the back, she pulled a black gym bag towards her and rummaged in it, opening the different compartments and digging into the pockets of jeans and flannels. Nothing but she took a second to admire an artfully curved blade. She tried to bend the blade experimentally, the metal didn't give at all.

"Stupid foreign knives, no give at all. Snap to fast." She muttered and settled the blade back into the bag and started into another one, this one was beaten canvas of dark red and black. She unzipped the main bag and went through the same process. It must have been Dean's. She came up with another pill bottle for caffeine pills, empty and barely a week and a half old. She dug more vigorously and checked the other pockets in the bag. She started when she came up with a roll of cloth. She sniffed it and choked, coughing heavily as her overly sensitive nose was swamped with irritants and started to burn. Her eyes started to water and she swiftly unrolled the cloth, covering her nose with her hand.

Small bundles of different dried and prepared herbs.

"Feverfew…yarrow…boneset, goddamnit he's tryin' to kill himself." She muttered and rolled the herbs back into the cloth and set it next to the pill bottle. She kept digging into that bag and then a smaller pack, finding two more empty bottles and one half full of a serious antidepressant drug, as well as a small bottle of aged brandy.

She snorted and pushed herself out of the back seat having found nothing in Sam's laptop satchel. She tucked the bundle of herbs into her back pocket and gathered the pill bottle, tossing the empty ones out onto the hard packed drive and slipped the antidepressant into the front pocket of her flannel shirt. She shut the door and made her way around to the trunk.

"Let's see how stocked ya boys are, shall we?" She muttered and swiftly pulled her bone hilt knife from her hip, knelt next to the trunk and with a swift and practiced twist popped the lock and pushed the trunk open. She glanced around the empty space for second, going through some rumpled clothes and another full gym bag and glanced at am empty one. Finding nothing she easily pulled open the false bottom. Celia held it up for a second. She sighed.

"Not bad boys, but yer missin' some essentials." She muttered and finding no other way to keep the lid up propped it with a well loved sawed off shotgun. She rummaged through the weaponry, ammo, stock and supplies the boys had acquired over their hunts. She found nothing expect for stores of the same herbs but she was unwilling to raid their stash in case it was needed and with the way the day was acting and foretelling the future she had a belief that anything she took from the truck would be forgotten and not restocked and then were would Sam and Dean be if they didn't have it when they needed it. She lifted a .45 and dusted the stock and barrel off; it was still streaked with rock salt.

"Don't clean up regularly do ya?" Celia asked. And setting the handgun back into the armory. She reached for a Desert Eagle handgun and lifted it. She shook her head, the barrel was jammed. She slipped her knife from its sheath and deftly popped the screws with the blade tip and easily took the gun apart. She growled and used the knife to dislodge a jammed shell casing. Celia looked into the trunk and pulled out a drop cloth and swiftly cleaned the pieces and reassembled the Desert Eagle in a speed that would startle the most hard-assed sergeant in the SEAL training program. She checked the screws once, cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. The Desert Eagle made a smooth tell tale click of a strong delivery if it had been loaded.

Celia nodded approvingly, swiftly loaded a clip of silver rounds, put on the safety and set the Desert Eagle back into the mass of weaponry. Having found no more evidence of drugs or paraphernalia she pushed the lid up, set the sawed off shotgun back into the trunk and dropped the false bottom. She pushed the trunk lid back down.

She decided to make this another of her main points when she started hollering at Dean for what he was doing to himself. So far on the outline of her lecture she had started big: Sam.

Then the Impala, the threat of him passing out at the wheel and totaling the car would put a fear in him.

His sloppiness on the job.

Then his inattentiveness to his weaponry.

That should put the wolf back in him, if he was anything like his mother.

She could hardly bark at him about self-destruction. The boy had no sense of self-worth. Too damn ready to throw his life away for someone else. He'd always been that way, as far as Celia could remember. She couldn't understand why the same young man that she knew to go out of his way to climb a perilous, twenty-five foot tall mountain of stacked hay bales to return a week old kitten back to it's feral littler only getting hisses and scratches in return much less work himself to near death for perfect strangers on a regular basis didn't think himself worth a grain of salt. His attitude had always left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Celia dropped off the flat bed with a grunt and hopped once, flinching as pain exploded into her left knee briefly. She limped heavily for a few steps, scooping up the empty bottles and the brandy. Her rhythm returned to her walk and she climbed the steps, crossed the porch and back into the kitchen. Buckshot pushing passed the screen door before it swung shut with a casual bang. She dumped the empty bottled next to the other confiscated drugs, pulled out the roll of herbs, set down the alcohol.

With a sick sigh she reached into her flannel pocket and looked at the bottle, reading the ingredients. This was an antidepressant that put one to sleep, it was practically the same thing as some of the tranquilizers that the Greers and herself used on the cattle and horses when needed.

"Dean, yer gonna have to tell me what the hell drove ya over the edge. Ya used to be so full of life; ya might as well be dead with this stuff swimmin' in her system." She growled, deciding she was going to have to look up the drug because she noted that the doctor's name and signature weren't forged. He'd actually gone to a real doctor for this one.

Her cell rang loudly and she reached for it distractedly, flipping it open and setting it to her ear, as she opened the cap and sniffed at the pills. She let out a distasteful snort and set the bottle aside.

"Red."

"_Young lady I am not going to tell you again to listen to me!"_

Celia started, appalled and clearly struck that she had not made her point strictly clear.

"_And don't you dare call me that again! You need to watch your language, I understand you were raised in a barn but a pretty young thing with your temperament shouldn't behave in such a way!" _Missouri Mosley scolded sharply from Kansas.

Celia was absolutely shocked that this woman, this _seer_ was daring to speak to her in such a way.

"_Honey, put your hate and distrust away, this is about the boys, not you. Now listen to me! For them!"_

Celia tensed and growled so low in her throat, hissing dangerously. She was again cut off before she could speak.

"_Stop that now! Listen missy, there's more than habit and coincidence that sent to boys back to you. There are things at work here, bigger than you can imagine. Something pushed them back to you, now I'm not sure what but it's strong and has its own and their interest in mind. Things are getting desperate for those boys. They needed you, maybe you needed them too. I know you haven't seen Sam in a long time and Dean…I'm sure this is about him. That damn dog wouldn't go after him if it wasn't."_

She was calling the coyote a dog if Celia understood right, the coyote wanted Dean out of spite, a grudge. This woman had no idea.

"_Fine coyote, then. And its more than just a grudge."_

Celia growled and bared her teeth like an animal to no one, just in pure anger and frustration.

"_Can you help him? I don't think he knows how much he's hurting himself, much less everyone around him. I don't think he understands or has the sense to understand or stop himself, he's lost. I know…I know it's hard and unfair but he needs you and that horse, too."_

Celia tensed so tightly that if she had been a machine her steel coil muscled would have snapped.

"What horse?"

"_That horse with blue eyes and a white face. The one he dreams about. That mustang."_

Missouri Mosley should have kept her mouth shut, she had bitten off more than she could chew. The next thing she said she regretted instantly as Celia's patience snapped entirely.

"_Ghost, that's the name."_

"How…the hell…do ya know 'bout the Ghost!?" Celia snarled. Her well kept patience, the steady hand, voice, eye and nerve that only a lifetime of working with horses, living the middle child life, twenty years a rancher, the baby sister of a brother that spent the majority of the last five years in a war zone, dealt with a younger sister more than ten years her junior and the skills learned in hunting honed. The patience and clam and steadiness that Nathaniel and Rosa Greer had instilled, taught and ground into her over the course of her twenty-four year lifespan. The patience that it took to learn to control the monster and strength in her small frame.

Everything about her life and existence was about keeping her cool and calm. She was patience incarnate.

The levy broke.

And Missouri Mosley _felt_ it. And she panicked.

"_Celia-"_

"Now ya listen to me, Miss Missouri Mosley." Celia's voice was low but pure poison, if anyone had looked in her eyes they would have reeled at the purest and darkest black they had turned. Pit less holes that were darker than the spans of space between the stars. So black they reflected no light, she turned on her heel and walked out to stand in the yard so she did not wake Sam or Dean.

"Ya think ya know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout by throwin' names and dreams ya catch on the wind. I expect nothin' less from one of yer _kind_ but know this. Ya. Know. Nothin'. What ya are suggestin' is beyond yer reach and stretchin' further ya touch the bone in the wolf's throat. Now, let me make myself perfectly clear. DON'T call here again, DON'T go lookin' to wade any deeper into this river, DON'T dare to take a step closer to me, the boys or the horse. Ya so much as send someone, step foot on the earth of my state of Nevada, turn to look west I assure ya that ya will not see the light of another comin' day. Ya think ya know things, understand things because ya catch wind of them. Well I know yer breed Mosley, I know the _buidaigwade_ from blood spilled experience. Take this as yer first, final and only warnin' and take it on yerself to warn the rest of yer God-forsaken, bad-medicine, disease-carryin', bastard seer kin 'cause they'll get no such warnin'. Ya are not welcome and I DON'T tolerate or hesitate, yer kind do not have the given rights or the luxury of a first chance.Yer kind are my enemy and a threat to my own and for that _ya are dead on sight without exception!_ _Am I as clear as mud or water?!_"

In Kansas Missouri Mosley felt a terror so deep and painful burst like a fresh wound in her chest. She feared for Sam's life with good reason.

"_Celia-"_

"_BUIDAIGWADE _AM I CLEAR!?! **WITHOUT EXCEPTION!**" Celia roared into the cell phone, making several horses head jerk up in shock and Sam twitch in his sleep on the couch in the house.

"_Yes."_ Missouri Mosley squeaked reining herself in and back from the slamming wall over wall of rage and hate that the normally tolerant and gentle natured woman expressed as she was over come with a blinding state of instinct driven violence.

That seemed to calm the roaring monster and Celia settled.

"Good. Good girl. Now if ya so much as breathe a word of the Ghost to anyone, _anyone_ I swear by the red clay under my feet that I will come down on ya like a hurricane. Faster than a Bluetick on a coon and trust me when I say that ya don't want this hound's nose to yer tail. Ya'll never have another day of peace. Yes?"

"_Yes."_

"Good, do not call here again. Have a nice day, Miss Mosley."

Without another second Celia snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into her pocket. She pressed the heels of her palms into her ears and took in a deep breath that had it been anyone else would have flowed back out in a blood curdling scream of anger. Celia only let out a practically pained and silent exhale. Letting all the rage and hate flow out of her and towards the earth. It seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright and she nearly collapsed as exhaustion crashed into her sharply. She staggered a little and swallowed dryly, taking a few short and quick breaths to steady herself.

_I was provoked, I was provoked, I was provoked…_she told herself over and over again. _That woman knew 'bout the Ghost, 'bout Dean and Sam, 'bout me…I was provoked…she was a fuckin' seer, a _buidaigwade_…less than human…I was provoked… _

No matter how many times she thought it, understood it and used it as an excuse it left a bitter and metallic taste in her mouth. Like blood.

She hated that she had acted that way, lost control and taken it out on a stranger. It wasn't like her. She didn't care if the woman was a seer, she had only wanted to express her concern for the Winchesters. Wanted to help, that was no way to treat a person at all, no matter who they were. She twisted around and looked at the house, Buckshot was standing on the other side of the screen door and looking at her quietly, waiting.

What kind of example was she? What would her sister and brother think of her for that? What of her adoptive mother Rosa if she knew?

What would Sam and Dean think if they knew?

And Nathaniel?

Buckshot cocked his head at her and whined. Saying and asking everything in the noise. He knew it was wrong as much as she did.

That wasn't her that had spoken over the phone line, well buried, deep seeded rage had taken advantage of her in a moment of…fear…for what Mosley had suggested.

Swallowing every ounce of pride and hate she had Celia pulled out her cell phone, pulled up Mosely's number from the memory and hit send.

She stood with the phone to her ear and waited.

"_Yes, Celia?"_ Mosley asked tentatively from the other end, waiting with nervousness in her voice. Celia took a deep shaky breath and steadied herself, putting up the same voice that she used in the beginning exchanges with Ezekiel Lynch.

"Miss Mosley I understand ya are worried 'bout the boys and I appreciate yer warnin'. I will do what I can with what ya have said in mind." Celia ground her teeth and pulled every ounce of her reservoir of trained manners and self control and will power. "Thank ya and I hope that ya have a good day." She grit out, trying very hard not to spit out the words for all the distaste and hate swallowed around them.

"_You're welcome."_

Celia didn't hesitate to snap the phone shut, this time as she clawed in frustration at her face and tilted her hat back, letting out an ill tempter and well controlled snarl of frustration.

She felt a light breeze brush across her face and hands, ruffling her hair in an almost familiar way.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She said to no one in particular.

The warning and advice from Mosley hung in the back of her mind, nudging at her. But Celia stubbornly returned to what she knew. What she experienced, she wasn't prejudice for no reason.

_It's not worth a grain of salt…_buidaigwade _aren't anthin' but trouble, cain't be trusted, not them, not a word they say. It ain't gonna happen again, not with a Winchester on the end of it. I won't let it._ She told herself quietly and started back up the steps feeling extremely tired but better about herself after the outburst. She could feel a low rumbling snarl in her ear and she only smiled, though she had let it go there for a second she checked herself.

The snarl only became a disgruntled mutter in her ear. And she inwardly snorted, almost smugly.

"_Boss?"_

He radio, still settled onto her hip, she pulled it free and clicked open the channel.

"This is Red." She said into the radio as she walked up the steps, across the deck and back into the house. She went into the mud room and rummaged until she found a heavy wooden box with a latch.

"_Red, this is Murphy."_

"What can I do ya for, Murph? Y'all headin' in? I think Jess and her crew are goin' to head out for the night shift, God bless that girl takin' Kurt's run on a holiday weekend, she's a saint." Celia muttered distractedly as she walked back into the kitchen and started putting the pill bottles, both empty and full into the box, the roll of herbs too. She rummaged and came up with a combo lock from the junk drawer and locked the box shut.

Celia was upset, tired and straining to a point that it was almost painful. Her knee was throbbing painfully. She could feel her blood pounding in her views. Mosley's interference, the fact that Sam was passed out on her couch and Dean was not only in struggling with heat stroke but was suffering from substance abuse and with drawl. The stress was getting to her and she was 'rambling'.

For as much talking she had done that day Celia's days were normally spent in silence. She was a quiet person and the fact that she was 'talking-up-a-storm' was another topic that was being discussed in the beauty shop over pink lemonade and as Celia would find out very soon, tea cakes.

Simone Murphy and Charles 'Chuck' Murphy and their crew had been radioing back and forth on their patrol ride, talking about how odd it was that Celia was speaking so much. Simone was a little skeptical as she could easily claim that, "never heard Ol' Red string more than five words together at once." She was surprised by the fact that the speculation was true.

"_Um, Red? We got a problem."_

"What?" Celia asked sharply, sounding more like herself than she had for the last five hours, since the Winchesters had breezed into her life again.

"_We just found a couple of ponies. Looks like a wolf pack."_ Murphy carefully said over the line.

Celia was silent, her teeth ground together as she set the locked box up on top of the refrigerator and pushed it back out of sight, having to stand up on her tip-toes.  
"How many?" Celia asked deadly.

"_Three, two colts. They were Nakotas Red."_

"Thanks Murph. I'll mark it. Head on back in and check up on Jess to make sure she's en-route."

"_Ya got it Red. I'll send Chuck back out with the truck to pick up the carcasses for taggin'."_

"Thanks Murph. I'll call ya later."

Celia set the radio down, stood shakily, leaning heavily on her hands over her table. She was shivering violently. The explosive flashes of emotions and strain crashed together so completely that she suddenly felt nothing. There was silence in the house except for the slight snoring of Sam on the couch and the steady ticking of the clock over her head.

Now three more of the mustangs, the Nokotas no less, were dead.

"**THIS CAIN'T GET ANY WORSE!"** Celia screamed at the top of her lungs, rattling the windows. Both dogs under the table leapt to their feet. Dean and Valentine jerked up from their sleep. They looked at each other trying to understand what happened.

Sam lurched up from his drug induced doze scrambling to sit up; his mop of chocolate brown hair was mussed and ruffled in his eyes from the comfort of sleep. He rubbed blearily at his face and one lanky arm draped over the back of the couch, looking at her through glazed cinnamon eyes.

"Wazzah madder?" He muttered, looking around at her and not quiet focusing through the heavy influence of the cortizone shots.

"Nothin' Sammy, got back to sleep." Celia soothed and waved her hand at him gently from the kitchen, scolding herself for reacting that way.

"'M kay…" Sam muttered and dropped back out of sigh behind the couch, one of his hands stayed draped over the back, slack and twitching slightly. He was lost back into an unusually mild dream in a few seconds.

"This cain't get any worse…it just cain't…" Celia reasoned.

**…**

Dean pushed himself up slowly. He flinched, grinding his teeth laboriously as pain rippled over his body with each breath and movement, though it seemed less sharp than it had been the last time he was awake. How had he gone from no sleep to nothing but? Why did he feel like hell? Another thought struck him…

_Was this what hell felt like?_

Dean pushed himself away from the white dog.

Valentine whined quietly and pinned his ears as Dean stiffly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He gasped quietly and flinched painfully as his bare feet settled onto the ice cold hardwood floor. Everything was strained and painful, everything was a hundred times harder and his vision and mind swam with heat and blurred edges.

But instinct drove him on, and instinct he listened to more than his own survival needs. Everything in his body that was telling him to take care of himself was overridden by a single clear thought and understanding.

Someone near by had screamed, someone needed help.

Dean shakily pushed himself to his feet and shuffled out of the room, once he was moving he found it hard to stop. His surroundings were strange, he couldn't place why they were oddly familiar but where they belonged just didn't dovetail with his swirling memory.

Valentine actually swallowed and dropped down off of the bed and trotted to catch up. Dena jumped as the dog brushed against his knee, whined and looked up at him.

Dean instinctively reached out and curled shaky fingers around Valentine's thick leather collar and actually leaned weight on the large dog for support. Dean breathed in heavily, straightening up as much as he could and putting up as much of a front as possible he started for the kitchen, the white shepherd taking a slow step every few seconds to keep up with him. Dean threw back his shoulders, swallowed and hardened as much as possible.

Halfway down the hall his stomach lurched painfully and Dean flung himself into the bathroom thankfully directly on his left, to the toilet and vomited up everything in his stomach into the bowl.

**…**

The heaving sounds made Celia stop dead in her tracks and look up.

"Gods forsake it." She snarled, looking heaven-ward, "Y'all sure like makin' me eat my words don't ya?!" She jogged to the bathroom were Valentine was standing in the doorway, his ears pinned and looking unsure what to do. Celia pushed passed to dog to Dean as he heaved over the toilet bowl. There wasn't much to put into the bowl. What looked like some half dissolved medication, all the Gatorade he'd drunk, some coffee and alcohol; Celia wasn't too happy to know that Dean seemed to be on a liquid diet.

Celia bent next to Dean and laid a comforting and assuring hand on his shoulder as he gasped and coughed painfully over the toilet bowl.

Celia flinched, dry-heaves were the worst; vomiting she could handle, even gagging but dry-heaves…

She waited and when it seemed like Dean could only manage to get up ropes of discolored saliva Celia reached across and flushed the contents of his stomach. Celia left his side briefly to soak ANOTHER wash cloth in cold water; she didn't bother to ring out the water. Returning to the irregularly dry-heaving Dean, she nudged him to sit back on his heels and knees.

His arms shivered from the shock of vomiting and his hands stayed locked in a painfully tight grip on the sides of the toilet seat. Celia swiftly wiped the cloth across Dean's face and mouth, cleaning away any debris and turned back to the sink. She cranked up the water and rinsed the fabric thoroughly. Celia reached out with her free hand and gently rested her fingertips on Dean's nearside temple and brushed a short curved path over his skin; through his hair and around his ear. His fever at least was steady but now Celia was having a hard time separating the heat stroke symptoms from the withdrawal symptoms.

Halen had said to treat it like the stroke. So be it.

She draped the dripping, colt wash cloth over her hand and pressed her palm flat across his forehead, the drenched fabric between.

Dean jerked and gasped a little before he felt the cool water start to alleviate his scorched flesh, droplets of water flowing miniature rivers over his face and down his neck drawing away sweat and strain. Dean sighed heavily and leaned into her touch until Celia was supporting the full weight of Dean's skull. He sighed, quiet and content. Dean peeled one of his hands away from the toilet seat with a stomach turning snapping of damp skin. His large hand settled over hers, pressing it closer to the heat of his forehead. Dean tried to link his fingers with hers but finding no give compensated by pressing into the back of her hand.

Dean sighed, again, contented and shut his eyes when Celia smoothly rubbed the wash cloth down his face, over his mouth and chin and down his neck. She felt him swallow thickly the rippling of muscle and tissue under her light fingers and Dean's heavier paw.

He'd kept it firmly pressed over hers as she washed his face and neck, keeping up with each of her moves. He was forced to draw his hand back when she reached to wet his ears and the overly sensitive flesh around and behind them. Dean winced and his head titled instinctively into her hand. The same for the right side when she reached around to the far side of his head.

Dean shook his head once the wash cloth left his skin, the motion stirred his brain and stomach and Dean gagged once but fought it down.

"Dean, ya alright?"

"Yeah…'m kay…" Dean panted.

"Liar." Celia said quietly, she was letting her strain get to her and she was expressing the tiniest run of it towards Dean just for the mere fact that he was weak enough to let himself get sick, it was a pitiful excuse to get mad at him and she let it go in a hurry when he looked up at her through long lashes and sweat soaked strands of hair and smiled gently.

She felt her heart melt when he licked his dry and cracked lips, "Yeah…you're right." He said quietly.

She smiled gently back at him, "Are ya at least feelin' a little better?" All the malice and stress and anger flowed out of her at the gentle soul behind the emerald pools looking up at her. _Don't lose that Dean, don't change that, that's who ya are_ she inwardly begged.

"Yes." He rasped out quietly.

"Do ya think ya can hold some water down?" She asked.

Dean barely nodded, but his arms still shook and his grip was still dead tight on the toilet seat.

"Alright." She dumped the wash cloth into the hamper, braced a hand under his elbow and pulled him upwards. "On yer feet, Dean."

Dean scrambled and wobbled to get back to his feet, Celia sympathetically gave him enough time to steady himself by increments until he was back up right and backing off a little to give him some room to stand on his own, Dean was swallowing hard to keep from going into a fit of dry-heaving all over again. But he seemed to be gaining a little of himself back.

Hell when you hit bottom there was no way but up.

"What ya get out of bed for anyway? Doc Halen want's ya off yer feet." Celia asked as Dean looped his hand under the waiting Valentine's collar and put more weight on the white dog than he did on Celia though she was a little comforted when Dean willingly rested his hand on her shoulder. He seemed to be feeling better or trying to play it off as he smiled halfheartedly and shrugged nonchalantly. Though the pass of a flinch of pain across his face, the thick swallow and the pale pallor told a different story.

"I heard a scream." Dean reasoned with a shiver as the fever bit at him for a second before he forced it away.

She shook her head, _old habits never really die, do they?_

"That was me, I got frustrated is all." She said quietly.

Concern crossed Dean's pale face and his smile slipped away. "What's wrong?"

"I got to try and get out to my herd but it's a bad idea leavin' ya the way ya are with Sam passed out on the couch." Celia sighed. Dean tensed, halting their slow walk towards the guest room.

"Sam?" He asked sharply.

"He's got a couple shots of cortizone in him to stop the pain in his skin, he's got second degree sunburn remember?" Celia quickly assured, knowing that the quickest way to get Dean in a rile was let him think Sam was hurting.

Dean nodded slightly and flinched, his face pinching in pain.

"And ya have heat stroke, remember? That's why ya just threw up and why ya feel like a bull had a good turn poundin' ya into the hard pack." _Or a coyote._ Celia soothed and got him moving again.

Dean gave a bare nod, and swallowed dryly. "Yeah." He managed out, hesitating and biting his lower lip. "Thanks, Red. We'll get out of your hair as soon…" He winced and took a deep breath, "…as soon as Sam wakes up."

"Sorry Dean, yer in no state to go anywhere, and neither is the Impala."

Dean paled considerably. "My baby?"

"She's on a flat bed out in the yard, I'm gonna make a call into Elko and order the fuel line for ya. No worries Dean, I don't mind y'all stayin' until yer good to move. Y'all did come out here to see me anyway. I feel a little responsible."

"Don't Red, it's not your fault. It's was mine, it was pretty stupid just standing out there in the sun. I got Sam hurt and now we're imposing on you."

Celia sighed, "Well if yer anythin' as stubborn as I am let's call it a wash." She and Valentine successfully helped Dean into the guest room and back to the bed while giving the young man the feigned belief that he was moving on his own will power. Celia wasn't the only one with pride. She felt weight come down on her shoulder as Dean eased himself down on the mattress and let out a tightly held sigh.

"And ya boys are gonna stay with me." She snorted quietly and turned back out of the room. Dean smiled slightly and contented himself with scratching Valentine under his chin.

"Well you aren't as terrifying when you're flying into people's stomachs, are you?" Dean asked, Valentine only panted in happiness as Dean really scratched under his chin.

"That dog was dipped in sugar when he was a pup, couldn't ya tell from that fur of his?" Celia asked gently as she returned with a glass of water and a large plastic bowl. She handed him the glass of water and watched with a practiced eye as he tried to force it down and keep it down. He gagged sharply with a pained gasped and Celia used lightening quick reflexes to get the bowl under him before the regurgitated water could get anywhere near the floor.

Dean flushed in embarrassment as Celia set the bowl on the floor next to the bed.

"Ya can try again later." She gently assured him but kept it to herself that it was **bad** when a body couldn't keep water down. And he **still** wasn't sweating. This seemed to be going down hill, even if Dean seemed to be feeling better and acting like it, too "Dean, ya gonna hurt yerself if I get to my herd for a few hours?"

Dean smiled slyly, "I can't make any promises…trouble is a lady that likes me."

_Oh Lord Dean, ya did not just say that,_ Celia raised an eyebrow and fixed him with a look that withered many men. A skeptical, questioning look to make sure that he was sure that was what he meant. Dean slumped a little, his smiling faltering.

"Uh huh." Celia sighed and stepped out of the room. One thing was true, trouble came to Dean without a second thought. She needed to keep him in one spot and busy. Her first thought was to dump him with her laptop, but as sick as he was he was still Dean Winchester and she was sure she would be stripping her hard drive of kinky website links for hours after he touched it. That left music, literature or film.

She wished he would go for a book, but she doubted it. Dean didn't have much interest in the written word unless it was a lead, he wasn't always that way. Maybe she could wean him off of porno websites and magazine articles about Oprah back to actual books.

She knew he'd just gripe about her music for gods only knows how long.

Film it was.

She exited the guest room and stalked up the steps to her room, she rummaged around looking through boxes and gear until she came up with a still in the package portable DVD player. The Greer family had a black sheep, alright, Cousin Nicky who couldn't breathe air that hadn't already been put through a purifier. She was an editor and fashion columnist up in Chicago. Celia had actually gone with Elijah once to visit her barely a few years ago. She had been disgusted and unable to understand the overly plush standard of living that Nicky had much less the sickeningly high priced diet, apartment at the skyline and a boyfriend made mostly out of plastic. It had taken a lot of will power for her not to let Buckshot, who had joined them on the run, to tear apart the walking fur ball of a dog that did nothing but yap endlessly that Nicky excitedly dubbed Prada the Pomeranian Princess. Cousin Nicky had a bad habit of sending very expensive and lush gifts to her, in her mind, deprived family members and the DVD player had not yet met the fate of the countless other gifts and been donated to charity.

She silently thanked Cousin Nicky and prayed that she soon acquired some common sense. Deftly Celia stripped the box away, briefed the instructions and got the thing working in a few seconds. Now she needed something to keep his attention for a few hours if he intended to keep himself awake, or just until he fell asleep again.

Preferably something to his interest.

Stephen King.

Celia trotted back down the stairs to the entertainment shelf and flipped through the rows of DVD until she found one: _Rose Red_. She glanced briefly at the description. A team of paranormal investigators, physics and a telepathic little girl go to try and wake up a dormant house that builds itself and swallows trespassers and guests, in Seattle.

If people only knew.

Celia shrugged, whatever worked. It was this or haul Dean's pale ass into the living room and leave him with afternoon television and prime-time programming. Yeah, he'd go wandering and probably collapse in the first few hour and a half. She loaded the DVD and took the case with her; it was a double disc-er. She cued up the movie and went back into her kitchen and to the refrigerator and rummaged around until she found a can of Sprite to help settled Dean's stomach.

Armed in such a way she went back to Dean's side and smiled sadly to find him sitting awkwardly cross legged with the bowl in his lap and Valentine draped across the quilt next to him and hanging his paws and head over the edge of the bed. She held up the DVD and player and the soda, setting the latter down on the floor next to the glass of water and handed him the player. His hand shook at he took it and she tossed the case on the bed. Dean looked up at her and cocked and eyebrow.

"Think it may keep ya still enough that 'Lady Trouble' don't come knockin' for a few hours?"

Dean flushed slightly, embarrassed by his own lame attempt and swallowing dryly nodded.

"Alright, I'll be back 'round then. Try and get the water to stay, if ya can give the soda a try." She commanded gently.

"Thanks." Dean sighed quietly. Celia nodded, then considering for a second pulled the walkie-talkie from her hip made sure it was on channel two and set it next to the drinks.

"Just in case, channel two."

Dean nodded and watched her back it left the room. He settled back against the pillows, swallowing thickly to keep his stomach still through the rolling fever. He started the movie after glancing at the description and finding it slightly interesting. But the opening credits didn't hold his attention as he glanced out the window at the sound of the screen door swinging shut. Celia crossed the yard with another dog on her heels. She actually looked like she was yelling as she walked. Dean leaned forward to watch her cross the yard and disappear into a massive barn. A few minuets later she came out with a bridle and reins in her hands and ducked through a fence to set the bridle into the mouth and over the head of a place colored horse. She vaulted up onto the animal's back, not wasting time with a saddle and she, the horse and the dog trotted out of sight. Dean leaned back and sighed, looking down at Valentine.

The large dog lifted his ears forward and then his head off the mattress with a soft whine.

"I don't suppose you could tell me why she and this whole place is so familiar, could you?" He rasped out to the white dog.

Valentine cocked and ear back and whined quietly again before belly crawling over to curl up next to Dean. The elder Winchester sighed, smiled and scooted down further into the pillows and quilt to snuggle with the dog. Though if he asked himself or was asked by anyone it was NOT snuggling!

"Yeah, I figured not." He yawned and concentrated on the movie, it actually caught his attention and held him securely and he spent much of the first disc picking out who was doing what and which ones he would have shot in the face.

**…**

Celia picked up another walkie-talkie on her way out the door and setting it to channel two set it into place on her belt ane pushed the door open, holding it wide with her hip and leg. She gave a short commanind whistle not loud enough to reach Sam on the couch.

"Buck, let's go to work!" She called to the German shepherd as she walked out, Buckshot bounded after her, down the steps and ready to get moving. He galloped across the yard, already on his way out to the far pasture to nip at bovine heels before Celia got the chance to call him off.

Celia decided to rush the job, not so much as it was insufficient but shave off two or three hours. Maybe she could get the cattle in, the horses stalled, bedded and fed before eight. She crossed the yards in long strides her eyes flicking across the yard, bar house, gates making sure that everything was closed up the right way, which would shave time off plenty, too. She was somewhat glad that the rest of the family was out of town; at least she didn't have to worry about anything being out of place for the mere reason that someone else had done it by accident.

She looked to the pasture and growled.

The Greer's twenty-five some odd horses were clustered en masse, their heads swung together and nickering, snorting, pawing at the earth and nipping at each other. There were solid colored animals, painted, roaned but the majority of them were appaloosa. Celia could easily name them all, and there was a time once that Dean could have too. They were quiet the mismatched group. The two honey colored Percheron draft horses, Bonny and Bo towered over the thicker and stockier ranch horses and ponies, a mule and two miniature horses barely two feet tall at the shoulder. There were a few mustangs mingled in the group but not that many.

"Oh shut up, all of ya!" She barked making every single one of them jump, the mustangs scatter and every head swung around to look at her in mild shock or annoyance.

"Y'all are worse than any of the Birds down in the beauty shop! I'll make sure to put pink lemonade into the troughs next time! Quit gossipin'!" Celia barked at them storming into the barn and deciding to ride bareback, she jogged to the tack room, pulled down a snaffle bitted bridle and jogged back out into the sunlight. She ducked between the bars of a pipe gate and whistled sharply, every horse turned to look at her and most of them started walking towards her.

"Honeycatcher! 'Catcher! Let's go to work!" Celia called.

With a short, the same pale stud that had called over the gate to Blackbird and Strawbury broke away from them and trotted towards her. He was taller in the shoulder and longer in the leg than most of the other horses in the herd and trotted right up to push his nose into her palm.

The pale color of his coat, almost flecked with gold was called 'cremello', hard to come by and the stud was worth more than his weight in the work he did and his sweet nature. He practically scooped the bit up out of her hand and ducked his head to make it easier for her to fit the bridle over his head, she threw the reins over the stud's shoulder and vaulted up onto his back, she settled herself right behind his shoulder. The stud hopped into a lop with a click of Celia's tongue and they galloped after Buckshot to root the herd of Red Furs and Black Angus cattle out. The buckskin Blackbird trotted a few steps with the red roan appaloosa Strawbury hugging his side. The pretty tri-colored paint mare, Sanuye nickered loudly after them.

"Just keep and eye on everyone, Sanuye!" Celia called back as the lope broke into a canter, "I'll be back soon!"

The mare threw a look nervously towards the farm house, as if she could feel there was something wrong on the horizon and pinned her ears with a quiet whinny. The buckskin stud pressed into the twitching mare's side, nudging his nose into her jaw and nickering assuringly. The mare only pinned her ears further.

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**Dude...she conficasted his shit...I like "Rose Red" based by Stephen King, it's a good movie and a figure that Dean would be intrested enough to sit around and watch it. I know he's Jack Nicholson fan so sure and oh the Oprah...**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	8. Bunk Down

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

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Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all.

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****Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche

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**Chapter Eight: Bunk Down**

**"I reached for sleep and drew it round me like a blanket muffling pain and thought together in the merciful dark."**

**-Mary Stewart**

It was well over four hours later when the lowing herd of Red Furs and Black Angus ambled in from the rolling moor-like hills and grasses of the Greer ranch land. Buckshot loped on their heels, panting heavily and snapping his jaws at a steer or heifer when he figured they needed it. Celia'a head hung tiredly and the cremello stud, Honeycatcher, step had lost some of the light flair that it normally held. Celia yawned tiredly and rubbed her face, continuing to whistle and holler at the cattle as they walked around her and the horse as if they weren't there.

Celia patted the thigh of her jeans, her tee shirt and flannel with a small cloud of red dust for the effort. She needed a shower, bad. She tugged her had down, shading her eyes from the amber and amethyst streaked sunset.

The Greer's horses and a few of the feral mustangs were still standing around with hind heels on a turn back and swatting flies off of each other as they spoke to each other in their language.

Celia passed a look at them and whistled to Buckshot to steer the cattle around the other side of the barn. The two hundred and fifty head of steers, heifers and calves were almost sickeningly obedient to the dog and mounted rider, it was no skin off their backs. The herd passed passively by two fenced paddocks, one empty and the other housing three large bulls ambled over lowing loudly and shaking their heavy horned heads, two Angus and a Red Fur. The cows and heifers didn't pay attention to the three snorting males and the steers didn't have time as Buckshot snapped at them and barked orders to move it or lose it. The herd ambled around the far side of the barn, along a long stretch of fence line and then through a swung open pipe gate. The east side pasture had been fenced off early in the Greer ownership days by Nathaniel when he was a teenager and his father Elijah Senior. It was meant for stud horses and bulls to thunder around in and leave mares and cows alone. Until about a month and a half ago when the Greers had started to drive the herd in every night to keep them from being slaughtered by predators on the ranger in the middle of the night. The cattle were the Greer's main lively hood they needed to stay safe and healthy, it that meant a four to six hour strain to bring them in every night, so be it. So Elijah and Celia herself had spent a lot of time making the east paddock calf, cow and heifer safe and then used it to contain the herd every night. The paddock was large, three hundred yards by four hundred and there was enough room for the two hundred and fifty head to casually swat flies and chew cud for six or so hours comfortably until the gate was opened and they went free range again. At least it was right now. The herd had recently been cash sold as the summer ended and the normally eight hundred, nine hundred plus head herd was cut considerably for meat stock season. And like every year the Greers kept two hundred and fifty head to start the herd over again for the next summer's profit.

Timing had been in their favor, otherwise Elijah and Celia would have been stuck patrolling the herd all night long every night of every week.

Celia scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and stifled a yawn again. Honeycatcher picked up his trot around to stand waiting at the swung open gate. Celia quickly started counting as the herd ambled through the gate, she had to count three or four times to make sure she kept the same number the whole walk in. The last count and close the gate, put in the horses, feed and water and she was free to go. The end was in sight.

"Two forty six, two forty eight…two forty-nine…Oh please, not one. I don't want to go crashin' for one…" Celia growled and mentally prepared to gallop back out on the range in a frenzy to find the straggler or the carcass of said straggler.

A short, baby 'maw' caught her ear and she glanced down and sighed in relief, "Hey Rosie."

The Red Fur calf cocked her head and lowed again. Unlike the rest of the cattle, Rosie had a thick leather collar, much like Buckshot, Valentine and Alamo did, with her name tacked into the leather and a set of rabies tags.

Rosie slid up to Honeycatcher and rubbed against the cremello's legs like a hundred pound cat. The shaggy calf mawed piteously. Buckshot cocked his ear at the calf and trotted over to touch noses with her.

"Alright, two fifty." She bent and grabbed a hold of the gate and clicked her tongue. With a practiced side step Honeycatcher tossed his head and walked forward and Celia pulled the gate behind them as they walked it closed. She bent further over the horse's bare and sweat soaked back to loop the chain into place and locked the gate closed.

With a happy snort that the job was done the cremello stud loped away from the gate and around the paddock with the bulls with his head flung up and a dance in his step. Buckshot bounded behind and Rosie lowing loudly to wait for her on the German shepherd's heels.

As much as the Greer animals liked, no loved to work, they loved to get off work, too. Celia let the stud canter around the barn and pt pressure on the reins only to stop him as when he stood clearly in front of the herd of still 'gossiping' horses. She let out a sharp high whistle that head shot up and immediately the mustangs broke out of the herd and galloped off to a safe distance to watch what happened with cocked forwards ears.

"Let's go y'all. Bunk down." Celia ordered and whistled again, turning Honeycatcher on his heel and trotting the stud up to the shut double doors of the barn.

It was the same for the Greer horses, the predator scare had everyone in the county putting their animals up in stalls locked barn doors every night as if a rampant horse thief was running the back county roads. The herd of horses hesitated and twitched for a second before Blackbird stepped out of the herd and the buckskin trotted to catch up with Celia and Honeycatcher. The rest of the tame horses on his heels and Strawbury again hugging the stallion's flank nervously.

Buckshot and Rosie dodged out of the way of slowly moving herd of horses. Both knew that horses had sharper tempers and reflexes than the docile Red Fur and Black Angus cattle. Buckshot quickly ducked under the pipe gate and started to trot away. Rosie tried to push the gate open enough to slip out but found no give stuck her head through the pipes and mawed to Buckshot nervously. She'd had a bad experience with a very grumpy mustang and had ended up kicked pretty viciously. The Red Fur calf had been nervous about horses every since and only warmed up to a few if and only if they were being ridden.

The German shepherd stopped and looked back, without a second thought the dog jogged to the gate and lowing calf, sat back on his haunches and stuck his head through the fence, licking the calf's ear and jaw soothingly until the entire herd of horses seemed to have passed without incident.

Celia dismounted from Honeycatcher at the shut double doors and grunted in pain when weight came down on her left knee. She grit her teeth and swallowed thickly, hobbling in pain and stiffness.

She didn't feel good at all. Her muscles and sinews felt strung out to thin and twisted to tightly, her joints were stiff and her back ached worse than the drilling pound in her head. Hell her teeth hurt. Her clothes were stiff, stuck to her frame with layers of her own sweat and dirt, and her jeans had been soaked completely through with the cremello stud's sweat in addition to her own. Her skin and hair was a color shade darker than normal from the collected dust, she must have looked almost orange in the fading light and her face was streaked with drying mud, dust collecting with her own sweat. She hadn't really sat down in nearly fifteen hours, clashed with the people of her hometown, struggling to keep up with her responsibilities as a rancher and the organizer and lead on the efforts to keep the mustangs in check and healthy, and struggling left and right with the fact that the Winchesters were back completely devoid of any remembrance of herself or the town at all and to top it off she was starting to feel a little light headed and dehydrated herself.

Hell it was only Friday, the first day of her family leaving town for the holiday and leaving her in charge until Wednesday. It wouldn't have been so bad and if Sam or Dean recognized her and as they normally would have threw themselves full into the work with her. But she was alone on this, dealing with her normal life and responsibilities with the added of one extremely ill Winchester and another, that was as good as a stranger to her, in pain.

She was physically and emotionally drained. With a painful sigh she pushed on, as she always did. As was custom with her kind; no rancher stood back or lied down no matter how exhausted or how strained if there was still work to be done. And Celia knew from experience that she had a long ways yet to go.

She tugged open the double doors and slid them back. As was custom all off the stalls were left standing open having been freshly mucked out and bedded early that morning, each double horse stall was piled ankle high with soft sweet smelling shavings. Celia tossed the reins over Honeycatcher's head and jogged down to the other set of double doors and quickly slid them shut. Blackbird broke into a healthy trot into the aisle of the barn, straight down the line of stalls and passed seamlessly into his and stood out of the way as Honeycatcher followed on his heels. Strawbury rushed into the stall next to the two studs with another appaloosa, a mild mannered black and white gelding.

Each horse of the herd stepped over the threshold to their stalls and waited patiently. Celia pulled a pair of thick leather gloves over her hands and set to work, she used the bone hilt knife from her hip and cut the wire off a square bale of hay. The hay fell apart like sliced bred into chunks called flakes. She grabbed a flake in each hand, walked to the first stall and tossed them in.

"Witch and Sanuye." She said and slid the stall door shut and locked it securely. The big black mare and tri-colored paint mare each nickered as they dug into the hay flakes. Celia went back to the bale and pulled two more flakes and went to the next stall.

"Indigo and Smokin' Joe." She muttered, a grey dapple colt and a blue roan gelding snorted in return as she shut the door and locked it.

Celia continued down the line of horses, basically taking roll and tossing each horse a flake. Naming each horse as if to remind herself who they were and that they were there. She gave each animal a quick look over for any kind of injury or oddity in conformation that might foretell a health problem. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary in any of them. She stopped and pulled Honeycatcher back out of the stud shared stall and deftly tied the reins into the hitch ring on the door and left him to continue to flake and secure the rest of the horses. She came back after having gone through four and a half bales of hay and all the stalls were locked. She tucked her gloves back into her back pocket, fetched out the bucket and sponge, filled it at the tap, leaving the double doors open when she crossed back into the barn and washed down the dusty and muscle sore cremello. She picked out his feet and rubbed him dry with a towel, slipped the bit out from between his teeth and turned him into the stall with the buckskin. They stood patiently while she tossed each of them a flake, fondly rubbed their noses and tweaked their ears. Each stud nickered quietly and Honeycatcher playfully nipped her hip, tugging her jeans away from her skin for a second before being swatted away.

Celia forced a smile onto her face and went into the tack room. She looked over the white board tacked up over a glass fronted mini-fridge filled with glass bottles of inoculation fluids.

She muttered to herself which horse was getting what, filling two syringes and several oral injectors with mixtures of vitamins, vaccines or treatmental fluids, she grabbed a handful of phenylbutazone "pill-bricks", her own development of different kinds of oral medications mixed carefully with a paste of sweet meal, baked and cut into dosage based and accurate cubes. So far the only kind that Celia used religiously was the phenylbutazone or 'bute-bricks', a strong pain reliever for sore muscles.

The local vets, Doctor Steven Strain and Doctor Joshua Hallandgale both impressed with Celia's uncanny ability to mix necessities in just the right amounts for an effective batch of medicinal treats, were offering them for sale in his offices and recommended them without question and well over half of the profits went straight to Celia. They were trying hard to help Celia get them tested by the equine FDA and get them out on the market.

Celia showed no ambition for blossoming something that could be a practical cult sensation around the world for equestrians and further for other species with the right mixture combo. She used them to help her animals and didn't mind that people in town used them for the same purposes. She didn't have an interest in really pushing it. Her lack of ambition spurred Strain and Hallandgale into getting the idea and product copy written to her name and coaxed her into signing the whole thing with the press of the idea of the horses around the world that would benefit from the pill-bricks. They called it just that 'Pill-Bricks'. They and independents ordered stocks for the 'Bute-Brick' regularly, as it was only one Celia felt sure enough to let others use it. Especially owners of performance and work animals as well as two or three of the tourist riding stables in the county. Celia could usually be found on a Sunday afternoon mixing batches and baking them on large trays in the Nevada sunlight to avoid exposure to chemicals used in ovens. She was currently working on getting the right mix for a de-worming and vaccination batches and Hallandgale was coaxing her to work on something for dogs.

Celia went back over the list, checking to make sure that she had all the doses she needed and who needed them, she clenched one syringe in her teeth and carried the rest strategically between her fingers and went each allotted horse on the white board list, whistling until they flung their head over the dip in the bars and passively taking the orals or direct shots and a Bute-Bricks afterwards. Celia granted Honeycatcher with two though he didn't have any medication to take otherwise. And the last on her pocket went to Blackbird for his work with Sam and two undosed treats to Strawbury for behaving so well all day, even with the added challenge of Dean's dead weight at a gallop nearly six hours earlier. Celia made a quick final check everything was secure, closed, tied up, hung up and then locked the tack and med room door, locked the rear doors of the barn from the inside. She walked stiffly out of the other doors, pushed them until there was only a foot of empty space between them and left it to add to the already well ventilated barn. A few knickers called after her as she walked away with the pain sharpening in her knee with every step.

Celia hesitated out side of the barn and ticked off her list.

The cattle were driven in and marked to the correct number.

Stalls clean, horses fed, dosed and bunked for the night.

She'd made a side pass on the way in to check up on the geese and duck boxes out by the pond in the main pasture, the number count was the same and she knew from experience that Nevada geese and ducks were mean enough that there was no predator stupid enough to go after them so she wasn't worried.

Buckshot had tossed himself into the water at the point and she didn't need to hose him down to get the dust out of his fur, so that was done.

All the gates were closed and the water troughs full.

The barn doors were shut and locked, the tack room locked.

What was left?

She walked stiffly around the far side of the barn and ducked her head over the narrow wire mesh to make sure that her younger sister's three show goats were safe in their pen. The black one bleated loudly at her and received a pat between the horns before she moved on.

She nodded and started to cross the yard to the main gate when a sharp bark hit her ear drums looking for attention. She turned and sighed. Buckshot looked back at her expectantly. Celia crossed, lifted the chain out of the catch and held it open for Rosie to trot out into the yard. The calf lowed happily and kicked up her heels as Buckshot trotted seriously ahead towards the gate, Celia on their heels. She swung the main pipe gate shut and secured the chain.

As she turned she gave Buckshot a light pat on the shoulder and thumped heavily on Rosie's side as the calf nosed in some sturdy Nevada clover.

Celia did a quick three-sixty, looking for anything in the dying light that needed to be done. Gave herself an assured nod and finally made the long walk into the farm house, it had now been five and a half hours that Dean and Sam had been left alone to their own devices and in Celia's hopeful best bet they were asleep.

She trudged up the steps with Buckshot and Rosie on her heels. She pulled open the screen door and held it waiting while Buckshot trotted over the threshold and Rosie bounded in after him. Celia sighed and crossed into the cool of the kitchen herself. She flipped on the set of light switches immediately next to the door. Gilded light exploded into the darkening kitchen and outside the porch lights snapped on, casting an eerie shadowed glow onto the planks of the wrap around porch and to pool out in the yard. Rosie's cloven hoof clacked on the floor as the Red Fur calf trotted over to the massive stainless steel dog bowl of water and plunged her face into it, sucking down water loudly and slopping it all over the floor. Buckshot stuck his face in next to the calf and lapped a bit more daintily. Celia hesitated and listened, the silence of the house assured her that either nothing was wrong or everything was wrong. She hoped for the former.

Celia stripped herself as she stood, biting back groans. She pulled off the walkie-talkie and set it next to the others in the mud room, she kicked off her boots and yanked off her sweat soaked socks and tossed them into the communal laundry basket next to the pile of boots just for that very use as well as rain and mud soaked garments to match. She rubbed her ankles where her skin was red and irritated and imprinted with the ribs of the sock pressed into her flesh for sixteen hours by her laced up boots.

With a heavy sigh she straightened and turned over the boy's laundry, tossing the jeans, tee shirts and flannels over to the dryer and turning it on. Celia resolutely emptied the contents of the communal laundry into the washer, poured in soap and started the machine. Celia tugged at the brim of her hat and passed back out of the mud room and stood in the kitchen rubbing her face.

She needed a shower, bad…

Finally done Rosie and Buckshot pulled their faces out of the steel bowl. Buckshot licked his chops and dumped himself under the table, Rosie snorted and shoot her head, spraying water here and there then licked her thick lips with a loud 'maw'.

"Quiet, Rosie." Celia ordered sharply and the calf flipped her ears back and went quiet. Celia ducked her face into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of lemonade. She preferred it to Gatorade and quickly and silently drank the entire bottle. She set it on the counter and stretched, her joints popping quietly. The blue merle collie, Alamo rose stiffly to his feet, lapped the remaining water out of the bowl and walked to stand at the screen door. Celia stepped over and pushed it open, assured the old collie would be patrolling the cattle out in the east pasture all night.

The collie was old and wizened in his life but he still took his job as seriously as the first day he understood what was asked of him. And while he wasn't the old warrior he used to be he still spent every night patrolling the property and herds of the Greer family, at his best still kill a wolf when he was pressed and hold back a bear or puma long enough for help to come. The aged dog walked slowly across the deck, the gold light from the porch lamps turning his fur steel colored until he passed out of it, down the stairs and out across the yard into the dark. Celia tugged at her hat again, the band on the inside was starting to irritate her skin but she kept it firmly in place, just like she had all day. Since the second she made eye contact with Dean and knew he didn't know her. Celia rooted into the refrigerator and came up with a few chunks of cubed beef and a carrot and a large bowl of ice cold, left-over beef chip chili. She gave the carrot to Rosie passed two of the beef cubes to Buckshot under the table and palmed the others for Valentine. Rosie crunched the carrot loudly and snorted, shaking her head and flipping her ears. She left the chili on the counter. If Dean had held down the water and the Sprite she would consider asking him if he wanted some toast or some other dish of tasteless nutrition. Maybe plain rice.

Celia padded silently out of the kitchen, pulling up her shirt, giving it a quick irritated sniff and almost choking on the overwhelming scent of her own and animal sweat and Nevada earth.

She walked up to the back of the couch and leaned over to look down at Sam. The younger Winchester's jaw was slack and hanging again and a fine pool of drool had soaked directly into the cushion of the couch. Celia stifled an irritated growl and reached around to place a light hand on Sam's bare shoulder, she carefully shook the younger brother and hoped that he wouldn't take a swing at her. She didn't think she could handle a sore elbow, blackened eye or in worst bet a broken nose.

"Sam? Sammy, on up baby bro." She coaxed quietly.

Sam's eyes blinked lazily open and he grunted into the cushion. His arms curled up into his chest and he licked dry lips and swallowed to wet his throat.

"Sammy." Celia shook his shoulder a little harder.

"Yeah…yeah…" He grunted and licked his lips again, one of his large hands came up and rubbed roughly at his face and mussed hair.

"Sammy, if yer hungry I'm gonna stew some chili, ya can meet me in the kitchen in a few, alright?" Celia coaxed gently, hoping that he would stay awake long enough to get something into his stomach. She seemed to thin, even to her.

"'S alright." Sam muttered and kept rubbing his eyes tiredly. He gave a muffled sneeze.

"Alright." Celia gently patted his shoulder and started down the hall towards the guest room. Sam sighed and breathed out heavily, he hadn't slept so deeply in years, he could still feel the drugs flowing in his system. He braced himself up on his arms and continued to rub his face tiredly.

He looked up as clacking in his minor hearing became thumping and louder as it got closer. Sam propped his chin up on his hand and twisted around. He gave a start in surprise. Two large, soulful brown eyes looked back at him and a large wet nose pressed towards his face with a muffled snort.

Rosie cocked her head and lowed in Sam's face and swished her tail.

**…**

Celia padded silently into the guest room and hesitated. The dark of the room was only broken by the pale bluish light of the portable DVD player's standard screen. Valentine's white fur was a ghastly luminescent blue color. Each rise of the dog's side cast a ripple of dark blue, almost black color across the dog's muscled sides. Celia flinched in sympathy at the sight of Dean's hunched form. He was braced up against the pillows on the bed, caught somewhere oddly between a sitting position and a lying one. His elbow was resting on the mattress, supporting his head up like he was a student trying to stay awake in a history class, his neck was arched oddly, the side of his face was resting full weight on his palm. She could almost feel his spine curved oddly and his legs were crossed, the DVD player resting awkwardly in his lap and casting him in the same strange blue glow. And he was deep in sleep.

God he was going to hurt with all the kinks and strains in his muscles.

It was like the reverse of what the sun had done that afternoon, the shadows stood out across his face and frame. He looked drawn, thin and tired, like he was stretched over to much space to be real anymore. There wasn't any fire in his hair or skin. His pallor was so thin Celia could imagine she could see the veins and arteries and flowing blood under his skin. Dark shadows hung under his eyes and gave him the graunt looks of a skeleton or some fae spirit of the old Russian forests, sent by giant bears to steal farmer's daughters. His hair was dark without the light, reflecting oddly like raven's feathers, streaks of blue and purple where it was normally cinnamon and amber. Celia had a feeling she was looking at what he had become.

She didn't like it one bit.

Celia crossed the room easily, her steps were light but Valentine's head flashed up. The massive dog twisted around from where he was curled up against Dean's side and yawned loudly. Celia crossed and rubbed the dog between his ears and slipped the two cubes of meat onto his tongue.

"Scoot baby." She urged, the dog rose without question dropped down to the floor chewing on the meat and trotted out to the kitchen to nudge open the door and out into the yard to stretch his legs, make a quick round of the property and relieve himself at a few choice fence posts.

Glanced down the glass of water was empty so was the purple Gatorade he'd started working on when Halen had checked him over and the Sprite can was popped open. Lifting it she found it half empty. Unfortunately the bowl she'd provided him was sporting a half belly full of Dean's stomach fluids.

As carefully as she could Celia lifted the DVD player off of Dean's lap, the screen flashed to life, flicking back to the scene it had stopped on; he had almost made it all the way through the movie, only forty minuets or so left. She set it aside and gingerly stretched out to rest her hand on Dean's shoulder. She frowned; she could feel the heat of his skin through the black fabric. At least he seemed to have avoided nightmares. Her eyes flicked to the otter totem around his wrist. It seemed to be doing its job.

"Dean?" She gently squeezed his shoulder, instead of shaking and expecting him to lash out. "Dean."

Reactively Dean spooked awake in a flash, the security he felt snapping. He jerked, his face peeling painfully away from his hand and his frame going rigid and straightening in a fraction of a second.

He regretted it, his head spun and his stomach lurched painfully and tightened. He dry heaved once as pain surged up through his spine as it aligned too quickly for the muscles to keep up.

He moaned painfully and hunched over, holding his head with both hands.

"Dean?" Celia asked sharply, she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. Keeping her grip firmly on his shoulder.

"Yeah." He managed, his voice still rasped.

"Sorry, I didn't figure ya to jerk like that." Celia soothed lightly and lying completely. "Are ya alright?"

"I'm fine." He muttered, his voice muffled into his hands.

She sighed, he was trying to lie to her again, at least he was showing signs of recovery.

"Ya know ya don't have to lie to me Dean." Celia coaxed, hoping he'd understand. Dean sat back, panting and licking the inside of his mouth, it felt like it was packed with cotton. "I've seen a lot of things. Ya being as sick as ya are, it's the lesser of many evils." Celia said tired, with a hint of wisdom and suffering.

Dean flinched a little, looking up at her and searching her eyes for the meaning behind what she'd just said. The lack of light in the room made it hard to see her expression and the red of her eyes was lost in the dark entirely.

"Ya couldn't keep anythin' down Dean." Celia pressed, trying to smooth over her lapse without seeming to eager to bypass the subject. Eagerness set off a Winchester's alarms faster than a snake spooked a colt.

Dean blinked and glanced down at the bottles and bowl. He swallowed dryly.

"No…sorry…"

"Don't be, it only means ya have to wait and see in the mornin' if ya can try again. Unless ya want to try now?" She frowned slightly and then shrugged at his nod for some solid food, "Alright, but then ya get some sleep and try and sweat this out, Dean. It won't keep its jaws locked much longer." Celia pushed herself off of the mattress and lifted the rancid bowl indifferently.

"What did you say?" Dean asked sharply, his hand went to his throat. The phantom pain of having his jugular and windpipe torn away from his spine returned full fledged. He swallowed dryly. Celia noticed, she knew the Coyote well enough that he always went for the throat if he couldn't go for the mind. She made a silent blood vow to tear the Coyote apart.

"Nothin' Dean, just that ya need to take it easy until it passes. Maybe a couple days yet." Celia shrugged, her voice quiet and falsely confused. She took advantage of his darkness hindered scrutiny and slipped out of the room to the bathroom and dumped the bowl into the toilet, flushed and started to rinse it with scalding hot water.

Dean rubbed his throat and kept his eyes on the door way, light spilling into the room now that Celia had left it open.

"That's not what you said…"Dean rasped quietly, through all the fog and ache his mind and body returned to the job. Dean tried to pool every thing he knew and experienced with Celia Northwind so far but found his memory filled with holes burned out by fever. "You know something." He muttered quietly and settled himself back against the pillows. He decided that as soon as he saw Sam next he was going to at the very least ask for a knife, if not a gun. Sure she was helping them but that didn't mean that she was safe or someone to be trusted.

He felt upset and wary that he'd so far been extremely vulnerable around her. That was going to stop now, he was on his guard. It didn't matter how bad he felt, he could still fight if he needed too. And unlike countless other 'heroes' he had no problem beating the shit out of girl.

He turned every sense he had on full attack mode. When his body figured he was in danger he went into a high alert of hypersensitivity. Though still suffering heat stroke his senses were blurred and strained. He growled, why was it that his hunter instincts always clashed with his survival instincts? You think they would have dovetailed perfectly, not fight against each other. Survival was screaming at him to shut up and go to sleep and stop being so damn paranoid. But as always when it didn't say what he wanted to hear Dean pushed it away with a growl of warning.

Dean felt a little better now that he had something to concentrate on. He preferred it to sitting idly and waiting for his body to catch up to his mind. He set himself to study Celia Northwind as thoroughly as possible without her suspicion. He vowed to know her inside and out, find out what she was keeping from him and what exactly was going on out on the Nevada plains. He knew, without a doubt that she had something to do with it. If it was a supernatural connection he was unsure but he knew that people just didn't have red eyes.

**…**

Celia waited until she was sure that the bowl was hot enough that the metal would start expanding if she didn't stop the water. She gave the bowl and experimental sniff and caught nothing but the smell of heated steel and water. She nodded in approval and jogged up to the second floor before she was missed. Passing over the thresh hold to Elijah's room and went straight for his dresser. She knew the boys would suffer through the night in jeans. She rooted around in his drawers and came up with two pairs of pajama pants, both light soft cotton flannels. She draped them over her shoulder and started back down the stairs with a forlorn look at the second floor bathroom. She chewed her lip and promised herself just another hour and she's lock herself in there for a while.

She stalked back down the steps and turned sharply around them to go down the hall. She gave a slight knock of the knuckles on the door jam and Dean looked up at her sharply, his brow was knit together and it was obvious that he'd been lost in thought.

In fact he was thinking why the hell he didn't hear her coming as she wasn't making any effort to be silent.

"Hey, brought ya somthin' to sleep in." She explained, setting the steel bowl next to the bed again and handing him the red plaid pair of the flannel bottoms.

"No, I'm alright." Dean declined as politely as he could manage. Celia breathed out a silent sigh of relief that he didn't argue with her about staying at the farm house. It wasn't lie she really would have let them eave anyway.

"Dean, ya'll suffer all night in those jeans. This room faces the sunrise, it'll gather heat in a hurry and tomorrow is a Saturday, by principal it's supposed to be miserable. Just use 'em. Doc's orders anyway, gotta keep ya cool or risk a lapse in body temperature." Celia sighed and backed away from him as she spoke so that he couldn't hand her back the flannels. "Shouldn't have let ya doze in the jeans all day in the first place."

Dean watched her with a cocked head as she passed out of sight beyond the door jam.

_How the hell did she just do that?_ He thought with a slight huff and balling the flannels around his hands and finding himself alone and convinced that he would have to strip out of his jeans.

Celia walked purposefully back down the hall and glanced over the couch, thankfully Sam wasn't there, she turned and walked into the kitchen, a sleepy eyed young man was sitting in his usual chair as the table, propping his head up wit one hand and rubbing his ears with the other. Rosie was no where to be seen and Buckshot was still sprawled under the table, looking asleep. Sam yawned loudly and sniffed.

Celia frowned, he sounded congested and nasal.

"Ya got any allergies, Sam?" She asked as she draped the orange flannels over the back of a chair and quickly pulled down two ceramic bowls and filled them each with cold beef chip chili.

"Hmm?" He asked tiredly, twisting around to look at her.

"Ya have any allergies?" Celia said, a little louder. Setting the two bowls into the oven and cranking the heat up to broil to heat the bowls in a hurry. The Greers didn't and would never own a microwave. Though Cousin Nicky had sent them one.

"Hay fever and pollen sometimes…" Sam muttered.

Celia stopped and stared at him for a second, sympathy and concern over run with mild surprise and pity.

"And they wanted to test me for cat or pet dander or something…never did…" Sam yawned again. "Can't be sure about if I am or not…"

"Shit, son. Yer in for it 'round here." Celia said sympathetically.

"Huh?" Sam muttered tiredly.

"Well, if ya got rid of those things Nevada wouldn't be anythin' but a stretch of bed rock." Celia muttered and she reached into the medicinal cabinet kept in the kitchen and came out with a bottle of antihistamines. "Here."

She tossed the bottle to him and Sam fumbled but caught the bottle.

"They're pretty generic but should clear ya up. I'll find out tomorrow if ya really are allergic or if yer just havin' trouble with the cortizone shots."

"Thanks." Sam muttered and twisted the cap off the bottle and popped a few pills, swallowing them dry. He gulped them down thickly and rose slowly to reach into the refrigerator, he rummage for a second and causally pulled out the last bottle of green Gatorade. Celia nodded approvingly at his choice and that he was starting to relax, feeling welcomed enough to dig around in her food stores without apology or permission. She wouldn't have it any other way. She shut off the oven and pulled out the two bowls of now steaming chili.

"Hope ya aren't a vegan." She said setting the bowl in front of him, and nudging a ceramic pot full of silverware towards him.

Sam smiled briefly at her and dug into the chili with vigor, his stomach finally getting passed his caution and worry.

"Ya like it?" Celia asked amused.

"So good…" Sam gasped between shovels of food. He stopped suddenly and looked extremely guilty. "Dean-"

"Cain't keep water down in his gut, he's in a state." Celia muttered but she had already put on a pot of water, forcing it to boil faster than it should have left alone, taking a mouthful of her own chili. She dumped in a cupful of white rice. She stirred it and let it boil down. "Don't mean I'm gonna let him starve. Ya can go sit with him and I'll bring it in. We'll see if he can stomach it." A scratching and whining she reached across and pushed open the screen door to let Valentine into the house. He trotted over to Sam, nudging the young man's elbow before galloping back out of the kitchen and to Dean's side. Rosie lowed at the white shepherd as he trotted by her on her way back into the kitchen. The dog stopped to lick the calf nose briefly before continuing to the guest room. She lowed again and scrambled back as Sam's tall and lanky frame passed on it's way to Dean's side. Cocking her head Rosie mawed into the kitchen at Celia's back before turning and walking after Sam.

**…**

Dean stiffened when he heard foot steps and relaxed again when Sam crossed the thresh hold.

"Sam, are you alright?" He asked sharply.

Sam shrugged and settled down on the end of the bed; crossing his long legs and setting the chili bowl down in his lap and scooped another mouthful. Dean winced and swallowed dryly as his stomach protested at the sight of food.

"I'm fine, what about you?"

"Never better." Dean lied, his stomach starting to settle and he pushed himself into a sitting position, trying to act like he didn't feel as bad as he looked. Sam wasn't fooled but kept his mouth shut.

"Sam, went you get a chance bring me my hunting knife. And a .45, rock salt." Dean said quietly, leaning forward to hush their voices.

Sam tensed up. "You noticed it, too, huh?"

"Yeah, she puts off a weird vibe." Dean muttered, he unconsciously rubbed Valentine's neck.

"Not just a vibe, Dean. She's acts strange. Either that or we're just not used to a stranger going this far out of their way to help us. Hell Dean, we didn't know her for more than twenty minuets and she was already offering to help fix the Impala. In an hour she was calling a doctor and putting us up for god knows how long. She even went and got the Impala off the crossroads, got us certain stuff to drink, food to eat. By the way she's making you some rice." Sam spooned another mouthful of chili and chewed on the strips of beef shank. "Hell, Dean. She's doing our laundry. On top of everything else that she obviously has to do to keep this ranch going."

"She's weird then, no good Samaritan goes that far."

"She has a cow in the house." Sam said almost conversationally.

"What?" Dean asked cocking his head. Rosie took that choice time to amble in and mawed loudly, making Dean jump.

"Rosie. She got vaccinated for rabies about three months ago." Sam muttered, the Red Fur calf shoved her head over the edge of the mattress towards Dean. She snuffled and snorted loudly and lowed again. Dean leaned away from the calf but Valentine belly crawled over and playfully pawed at the calf.

"I don't think I can get this girl." Dean muttered. "She said some stuff. Set off the alarms a little."

"Yeah, she's done a few things in front of me, too." He motioned towards the otter totem at Dean's wrist and the beaver totem around his neck. "She made these, it took her a few minuets. Carved them each out of bone and teeth of the same animal, put them in her palm and cut across her hand. That's why they're red. Blood soaked."

Dean lifted his wrist and inspected the burgundy colored otter charm. Closer scrutiny said just that, blood stained.

"Hoodoo?" Dean asked, Sam shook his head.

"I found out that she's Christian but leans a lot on her heritage beliefs. The Native American stuff."

"Animal totems." Dean grumbled.

Sam nodded. "But it was weird, when she charged them she used The same prayer that we use to bless holy water, made the sign of the cross then said another prayer. In some Native American language and made another symbol. The four points of the compass I think. I couldn't see it very well."

"So they're both positively charged." Dean muttered.

"Yours is supposed to keep nightmares away, I'm not sure if that's all it does. If I can I'll try and research the other prayer and see what it means."

"We can't assume that she means well, its to much of a risk." Dean muttered, rubbing his face and starting to feel a little flush.

"When she handed me mine she said that we seemed to attract trouble and that she wanted me to keep it, for her sanity." Sam assured, "Dean I really think she wants to help us."

Dean scoffed, tiredly, making Sam and Valentine look up at him. Rosie stretched out her neck, rolled out her tongue and licked Dean's hand. The older brother jerked his hand away and grumbling rubbed the saliva off on his jeans.

"Dean-"

"C'mon Sam. I don't care what she'd doing to help us. She could be hostile as quick as she is friendly."

"C'mon. Dean, maybe we should give it the benefit-"

"Sam." Dean hissed dangerously. "You don't have _red_ eyes for no reason."

Sam swallowed heavily and had nothing to say in return.

"Something is not right here, Sam." Dean dropped off the conversation, Sam didn't respond. They sat in silence for a few minuets and both started with groans as light exploded in their faces.

They both shielded their eyes against the light, blinking and trying to see.

"Y'all Wilson boys have strange habits, eatin' in the dark." Celia muttered and crossed the room, a bowl of rice in hand and the orange flannels over her shoulder.

It took the young men a second to remember who 'Wilson' was then they both put on false, shy smiles.

"Didn't think to turn it on. There's enough light coming down from the kitchen." Sam provided.

Celia snorted and sighed.

"Rosie, scoot." She gave a sharp whistle. The calf gave a grunt, turned and trotted out of the room. Dean kept his eyes on the Red Fur calf as it walked out of the room.

"Why do you have a cow in the house?" Sam asked quietly, curiosity getting the better of him.

Celia shrugged, "Kids get attached when they shouldn't. My sister fell in love with that runt and dumped her on me." She handed Dean the bowl of steaming rice and a spoon.

He accepted it and sniffed. He could smell salt, pepper and butter wafting up at him. His stomach rumbled queasily. Giving him a warning at the same time as telling him to hurry up and get it down.

"Give that a try Dean. If ya feel a sharp pain in yer side stop eatin', may save ya the shock of vomitin' again."

"Thanks, Red." Dean said quietly, giving her a false smile.

"We really appreciate everything you're doing." Sam smiled at her, still believing that she really only intended to help them, even around his own caution.

"No skin shed and no blood lost. No worries boys. Do ya need anythin' else?"

They shook their heads, still having a hard time that someone was this courteous.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Cause I'm up at three and it's…" She glanced at a clock on the wall, "Damn near eleven now. I'm shot and need a shower if ya have no sense of smell." Both Winchesters looked awkwardly away, from her. "Stop bein' so tender footed boys, I know I smell like a stall. So if there ain't anythin' else I'm gonna amend that. Sam if ya want ya can sleep in the guest room up stairs. If not ya can pull the sheets and crash on the couch thought I do warn ya that ya'll be sharin' with Rosie if ya do." Celia sighed and tugged at the brim of her hat. She handed him the pair of orange flannels. "Like I told yer brother, sleep with those, y'all Kansans have a strange temperament and I cain't be sure what the night heat will do to ya. Those at leas will help keep ya cool."

"You let a cow sleep on the couch?" Sam asked with his eyebrows raised so high on his forehead they disappeared into his hairline. He accepted the flannel bottoms and set them on the bed next to his bent knee.

"When Momma Rosa ain't around, yeah. Personally I could care less. She doesn't have any fleas or ticks, neither do the dogs or cat. But I suggest ya just use the bed upstairs if ya think ya got dander problems." Celia said with a shrug.

Sam nodded and ignored the questioning look from his brother.

"Thanks, Red."

"Sure, night boys, bunk down."

"Night." They both returned automatically. Formality was not a part of their normal existence or vocabulary but the little common courtesies seemed to be innate in all men. For a split second she was gone then she ducked her head back in.

"Fellas, don't mind the wolves. Just try not to listen to closely to what they're sayin'."

Sam and Dean tensed up.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked with a a shrug of his shoulder and mock confusion on his face.

"Their voices are too lonely. They can make ya heart sick. Just do yerselves a favor and try to ignore them. Don't want y'all melancholy in the mornin'." Celia sighed and disappeared out of sight again.

Sam and Dean waited a few seconds and looked at each other.

"That's what I'm talking about, she says strange stuff." Dean muttered and scooped a little rice into his spoon then mouth. The spice and sweet taste struck him at the same time and slid down his throat easily. He waited a few seconds to make sure he could hold it down before taking another spoonful.

Sam grunted, both brothers were starting to feel a little tired, their heads were starting to droop and Sam could feel the drugs taking a hold of him again.

**…**

Celia climbed the stairs, stopped briefly in her room to grab a white tank top, fresh undergarments, a black and white bandanna and her own pair of cotton flannels, a patterned of black with white horse silhouettes galloping all over it. Her adoptive younger sister, Imogene had given them to her some years ago and Celia stuck to them. They were comfortable and light. She stalked into the second floor bathroom and shut the door; she twisted the door knob, effectively locking it and let out a tightly held and almost pained sigh.

Celia leaned heavily against the door for a few minuets just catching her breath before she dumped the sleepwear into a corner far from the bathtub. Leaned over the sink, bracing her hands on the cold tile of the counter top and she looked in the mirror. She sighed heavily and twisted her head to look at her face, she pulled the flesh under her left eye down to look into her own blood red eye a little better.

She finally reached up and tugged the brown Stetson off of her head and she dropped it on top of the toilet seat and looked at herself. Her hair was mussed from being trapped under the hat; she fluffed it experimentally and cocked her head to the side. Her hand left the tangled locks and brushed it over her hair line with a soft, exhausted whimper of shame.

_They really aren't going to like havin' to go through this shock again._ She thought to herself and grazed her fingers gently over the curve and ridged texture of the left horn.

Aligned with her eyes at her hair line grew two red boned horns that could have passed on a goat or a young Big Horn Sheep. Celia was relieved suddenly that she had gone through the pain earlier that year to have Elijah's help shorning the horns down. In January they had begun to curl around her ears and starting to feel heavy and awkward.

The points and first twist curve had grown back in since then, but luckily they ram's set still stayed under eight inches long, easily hidden under her hat, sometimes a bandanna if tied right. Curving up and back towards the back of her head.

_They're gonna shoot me, _she thought tiredly and hung her head.

"Goddamnit all."

**

* * *

Just so we're clear so far:**

**There are three dogs: Valentine, Buckshot (German Shepherds) and Alamo (collie).**

**There are twenty-five plus horses and two-hundred and fifty head of cattle plus three bulls and including Rosie.**

**Celia is twenty-five, turning twenty-six in this fic, she was adopted into the Greer family when she was three or so. **

**The immediate Greer family consists (not including Celia) Elijah Jr. (the eldest brother, he's twenty-nine turning thirty and a US Marine) Imogene (the youngest sister, she's eleven), Rosa Cree-Greer (the Momma) and Nathaniel Greer (the Father) and they are out of town leaving the ranch to Celia to take care of. **

**This fic takes place at the end of August and beginning of September, Labor Day weekend.**

**Sam is twenty-four and Dean is twenty-eight. **

**Celia had horns, blood colored eyes and red hair.**

**I was starting to get a little confused myself…**

**Enjoy The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	9. Sleeping Arrangments

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Sleeping Arrangments**

**"It may feel like we're wasting time here, that we could be elsewhere and our skills of better use, but hold you're ground. It is your duty."**

**- Unknown**

**…**

Valentine's ears were cocked forward and his large blue eyes looking up at the ceiling, listening to flowing water. The big white dog gave a heaving sigh but didn't move from his place pressed against Dean's thigh.

Dean absently picked at the rice. A little over a third of it was settling awkwardly in his stomach. At least it wasn't rolling around and biting at him. Yet. But the sharp spikes of pain in his side had done just what Celia had advised, he'd stopped eating. He didn't feel any pain now but he was discouraged to eat anymore.

Dean glanced up at the ceiling, he could hear the running water pounding against the tile of the bathroom somewhere above him. He sighed heavily, trying to think, figure out who he and his brother had accidentally found themselves that charges of.

He glanced up at foot steps, Sam crossed into the room, his stride long and steady but obviously straining to keep up. He was tired and the cortizone was pushing against his brain to settle down for the night. Valentine glanced briefly at him, cocking an ear then with a sigh shut his eyes.

Dean sat up expectantly and set the half eaten bowl of rice aside. Sam was glad that he had eaten as much as he had and hoped quietly that his older brother's body wouldn't reject the nourishment. Sam swore it looked like Dean had lost five pounds since that morning.

God had it only been one day? It seemed so much longer.

Sam stood next to the bed and pulled Dean's favored hunting knife out of his jeans waist band, the large blade flashed in the light as it passed hands.

"Thanks Sam." Dean said taking the knife in slightly shaking hands. Valentine gave a slight sniff, his eyes flashing open and his head jerking up and back, locked on the knife. The big white dog swallowed thickly and his ears cocked back a little. Sam reached around behind his back and slipped a .45 Glock out from the waist band and passed it to Dean. Dean ejected the clip; made sure the rounds were rock salt and slid it back home, cocking the gun and flipping the safety into place.

Valentine stiffened. He knew guns and what they did and like animals in the presence of men felt a spark of fear for his own life. He scrambled up with a whine sidestepping widely around both brothers dropped off the bed and rushed out of the room. Dean startled and a little put out watched the dog go. He wouldn't admit that he enjoyed the dog's company but he felt the loss in a hurry. Sam turned back to look at Dean with a raised eyebrow and a cocked head.

"Must be gun shy." Dean reasoned and settled the gun and knife under one of the pillows.

**…**

Valentine galloped down the hall and into the kitchen, mouthing air nervously he whined loudly and scratched at Buckshot's shoulder. The larger and older dog lifted his caramel furred head and set his large brown eyes on Valentine, with pinned back ears. Rosie lifted her head from sniffing at the dog food in Alamo's bowl to watch the two dogs with cocked ears.

Buckshot huffed out air and snorted. Valentine gasped loudly and gasped out a few pleading whines, his ears pinned flat against his head. He swung his head around and let out quiet puppy barks at the Red Fur calf walking towards them.

Buckshot tensed up, his ears flying forward for a second. Rosie lowed quietly and nervously. Agitation struck her full on.

Buckshot let out a sharp authoritative bark and Valentine returned an assuring and nervous yap of a noise. Rosie panicked all over again. She mawed loudly and started shivering. Buckshot gave a sharp bark into the calf's face as he pushed himself up to his feet and ducked out from under the table, effectively Rosie seemed to shrink up on herself, and she still twitched nervously but she seemed to be trying to control her shaking. Buckshot growled sharply at Valentine and the white shepherd instantly fell into step behind the caramel and black dog. The two shepherds padded to the closed oaken door. Buckshot stood back and let out a grumble of a growl and Valentine went to work.

The big white dog reared up and braced his paws on the hard wood and he stretched his nose up and nudged the lock turn back, the bolt slid out of place seamlessly. Valentine dropped back to the floor and sitting back on his haunches clawed at the door handle, a tarnished brass handle than opened when the pressed down on. Once his paws hooked over the simple curve of the handle Valentine stood up on his hind legs and pressed all his weigh into, down and back on his paws and shoulders.

As always he stumbled as the door peeled away from the jam and swung open. Another of the charming albino's many oddities and skills that he'd learned in early life.

Buckshot snorted approvingly at Valentine's work, glanced up to make sure that that catch wasn't on the screen door and pushed it open. Valentine snorted and pushed after him. Rosie started after the two dogs but stopped in her tracks when Buckshot growled sharply at the calf. The Red Fur lowed pitifully, begging to come along. Buckshot only snarled at her to stay on that side of the screen. Rosie shivered violently and watched as the two shepherds bounded down the steps and started across the yard at a full gallop.

The calf nervously paced the kitchen, waiting for them to come back.

The two dogs sprinted across the yard, ducking under the pipe gates and dashing out into the pastures. They barked loudly, startling desert hares, insects into silence and pheasant in the grass. A few red deer spooked as the dogs galloped passed them and a small band of mustang ponies wheeled away from drinking out of the water troughs nears the barn. The shepherd's barks carried over the rolling earth and echoed loudly in the air, bouncing off of the barn and fence posts. Their noise drifted into the stalls and horses lifted their heads from sleep to cock ears forward and listen. Blackbird swung his head out over the dip in the slide bars and listened. Honeycatcher nickered at his shoulder. The older buckskin snorted at the cremello to stay still and listened as well as he could to the barks and whines coming from out of sight.

Buckshot and Valentine's voices carried over and caught Alamo as the older dog weaved through the two-hundred and fifty head of cattle. With a thick, returning bark the elderly dog turned and pushed passed calves and heifers to the fence and gate. The two much younger dogs pushed though the bars of the gate and galloped into the herd. The three finally meeting up near the edge of the cattle group. A few cows and steers turned their attention to the trio as the two shepherds barked, whined and yapped to the still silent merle collie. Valentine finished the one sided exchange with a worried whine and a glance over in the direction of the house.

Alamo jumped slightly at that last whine then let out a deep chested good natured growl making the two shepherds look at him expectantly.

Alamo was fifteen going on sixteen and one of the oldest animals in the ranch. He'd seen and experienced a lot. He was senior of Buckshot by twelve years and Valentine by thirteen. And he remembered a gruff voiced, rugged faced man with his two pups as clearly as he remembered the faces of every member of his family.

The old collie gave a few soft barks and a quiet growl then turned and went back to his work with the cattle. The two shepherds stared after him like teenagers when their grandfather just told the greatest of his war experience stories and plopped a bit of advice and assurance on the end of it. Valentine looked at Buckshot and cocked his ears slightly and let out a quiet and confused whine. Buckshot snorted and snapped at the younger dog in irritation and turned to climb back through the gate. Valentine followed, the two dogs walking around the barn and across the yard, up the steps.

Rosie rushed to the screen door and mawed nervously. Buckshot growled assuring and quietly at her and the calf stepped forward, pushing the screen door open and holding it while the two dogs walked through the door into the kitchen. The calf backed up and trotted out of the way as the two shepherds pushed against the oaken door until it closed fully. Buckshot pressed his side into the door while Valentine reared back and nudged the lock back over. The two dogs snorted at the sound of the bolt sliding back home.

Rosie rushed to press herself as close to Buckshot as she could. The calf lowed nervously and kept shaking. Buckshot twisted around and licked across the calf's nose assuringly. Buckshot cocked his ears back and whined nervously to the other two. Buckshot returned with a sharp snort of noise and allowed the upset calf hide her face in the thick fur of his neck. Valentine whined again and Buckshot snapped at him, growling and repeating the run of barks and growls that Alamo had. Valentine looked dejected but assured and sniffed quietly.

**…**

Sam rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes and tugged at the loose elastic band trying to hug his hips. The orange flannels were inexcusably loud but personally Sam couldn't care less, compared to his jeans it felt like he wasn't wearing anything. He dreaded putting the heavy fabric back into place. He hadn't noticed how warm the air was until it was suddenly cooler. Sam tossed the jeans over the back of the couch, his boots and socks were in the mud room and he was still resigned to go without a shirt to avoid irritating his sunburn.

He felt slightly and gently blessed. His brother seemed on the better side of heat stroke, they had a sheltered and unusually comfortable place to sleep, solid food to eat and someone who seemed genuinely concerned for their welfare. Sam didn't care how paranoid Dean was, he was sure that Celia meant no harm to him or Dean, at least as far as the present was concerned; there was no telling the future. And to top it off they were doing anything illegal. Lying yes, illegal no.

Sam still stood against the fact that just to survive his family committed perjury, not to mention all the poker games and pool hustling. A part of Sam still aspired to be a lawyer in Criminal Law. And that part of him suffered a blow every time Dean whipped out a fraudulent credit card or taunted a couple of cold eyed gamblers into a high-stakes game of seven card wild. He hated it.

He didn't like lying to Celia either but he'd rather feed her a quiet lie and slip silently back out of her life without disrupting it to much more than stick around and have the FBI or the local police come down on her for their sake.

Sam yawned and stretched, reaching up and arching his back, he rolled back his shoulders and his fingers brushed against the hard wood support beams above his head. He slumped back to the balls of his feet and took in a deep breath, his lungs expanded until they almost burst. Sam felt like he hadn't been able to breathe properly for years and suddenly he could. He felt _good_. Even beyond the fact that his skin was blotched and burned from the sun, there were only a few sparks of pain here and there, but the cortizone shots seemed to be taking care of that. Reminding himself of the fact that he skin burned set off a small chain of painful flairs across his flesh and he decided to take advantage of the aloe gel in the refrigerator.

The sound of a door swinging shut and locking stopped him dead and he tensed. Sam's jaw locked and his hand strayed to where he normally had a knife or gun. He cursed silently when nothing came to his aid. But he was a better fighter than most and was sure he could hold his own until help came; if he needed it at all.

He silently stalked to the kitchen doorway, pressing his back against the wall Sam leaned forward and carefully looked around the corner into the kitchen. Confusion struck the younger brother and he walked quietly into the room. The two dogs and calf looked up at him and seemed to tense up.

Sam glanced at the animals and walked passed them to tug at the door. Locked and secured. Sam scrubbed the back of his head and twisted around.

The three animals were staring at him. Sam wavered slightly under the dark umber eyes of Buckshot, Rosie's sad chocolate orbs and Valentine's flashing sapphire. He felt a flash of scrutiny and nervousness, it was stronger and more nerve racking than being barked at by a federal agent.

"You guys see anyone come in?" Sam asked quietly, a tinge of self-mockery in his voice for even bothering to ask them. The three animals cocked their ears and heads at him. Sam had the distinct feeling that he had accidentally walked in on a conversation and rudely walked through and interrupted it at the same time.

Rosie lowed quietly and pressed even closer to Buckshot, making the large dog sidestep to accommodate.

Buckshot snorted as if finally fed up with the two younger animal's behavior and pulled away from them he determinedly walked over to Sam. Sam tensed up and waited to see what the shepherd intended. The dog sat resolutely at Sam's leg. He looked back at the calf and white dog as if making sure that they were paying attention, then Buckshot stepped forward and closed his jaws tightly around Sam's forearm, wrenching his arm around and pressing his teeth into the sensitive skin.

The young Winchester instinctively jerked away, trying to get the jaws to unlock from his arm. His heart rate speed viciously up and he tensed up so tightly that he growled deep in his throat. He flinched feeling the graze of teeth over his burned flesh. Sam swallowed dryly but after a few seconds of the teeth not cutting deeper into his flesh, not cutting into his skin at all he relaxed. Sam let Buckshot pull his arm back and down.

It seemed to do the trick. Buckshot pulled back, opening his jaws and leaving nothing but slight indentations in Sam's arm where his teeth had pressed down; he gave a short annoyed bark towards the other two animals. Sam looked between the three animals trying to figure out what it was that they were communicating about. Valentine whined quietly and Buckshot seemed to snarl, his hair bristling up on his neck and he turned and practically marched out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the guest room. Valentine and Rosie rushing to keep up. Buckshot pushed open the door to the guest room and stalked in, not paying attention to the bleary eyed and startled look from Dean. The big dog repeated what he had done with Sam. Dean jerked sharply back to get way; the only reason he didn't fall over was the bed frame was in place from him to grab onto. Buckshot edged forward to follow him and kept his hold light to avoid mangling Dean's forearm. After a second of Dean flinching as his stomach rolled around in his abdomen he settled figuring the animal wasn't going to actually bite into his arm. Buckshot opened his jaws and licked his chops, not enjoying the taste of Dean's fevered skin.

Valentine let out and almost joyful bark, relief hung in the noise. Rosie mawed but her tension seemed to have flown out of her. Buckshot backed out of the way as Valentine threw himself on Dean in a wild display of puppy affection; whining and mouthing air he rubbed against Dean's unsteady legs and scrubbed his face against Dean's hip. Buckshot grumbled to himself and stalked out of the room, snapping at Sam and making the young man jump out from blocking the door way.

Snorting and grumbling the big dog stalked down the hall and climbed the steps up to the second floor and started down the hall. The bathroom door opened carefully and Celia glanced out before stepping out into the hall. She wrapped her hair around her hand and squeezed, the water dripped down her hands and arms and pattered on the floor. Her hair was darkened from the shower, almost black. She swiftly pulled a rubber band from her wrist and tied her hair up in a pony tail on the back of her head. She ran a hand between her horns to smooth the hair down and let out a sigh.

If the Winchesters had looked at her they would have though her a different person as what they met at the crossroads; sun browned skin was now a cream tawny, she might have looked smaller even, she'd probably shed nearly a pound in the shower of layered dust, sweat and mud. Her bulk was lost with the off cast of her jeans, tee and flannel and the wide leather belt. The replacement of the loose pajama pants and tank top was a mild shock. They might have shied from her too. The scar around her neck that Dean noticed was accompanied by a map work of discolorations and raised lines of pearled scar tissues. She looked like a cage fighter that always got the bad side of the fencing; and there was more hidden beneath her clothes. The tank top hugged her frame and she hung her head, her hand sliding up to rub the side of her neck. Her fingers grazed over her skin and she stopped to twist around and inspect the marks on her flesh.

Her shoulders, back and neck were marked with tribal tattooing. But it was different kind of tribal than the modern curved and spiked of the tattoo artist made with a machine and needle. Hers were years in the making of traditional marks, the shapes and designs caught somewhere between the modern tribal and the traditional design of Native American works. Each line was painstakingly carved into her skin as ink dyed scars. The designs capped her shoulders, swept up and across to collar her neck below the average shirt line, flowed down to cover the spans of her shoulder blades, then they swept in to only follow her spine out of sight under the tank top.

Mixed into the tribal black were definite designs. Three bars of solid black ringed around each of her biceps just above the elbow. On her right shoulder was a tribal horse of gold and black, a buckskin design with prancing hooves and a deeply arched neck and flowing mane and tail. On the left was a white wolf, it's skull split by twisted rams horns and a set of wings from it's shoulders; the animal's neck was arched, lips curled back in a snarl and claws tearing across her skin. She reluctantly grazed her fingers over this scar and then reached around behind her neck. She ran her hand comfortingly over a circular scar tattoo at the base of her neck, directly between her shoulders on her spine. This circle was the strongest mark she carried and put faith into, the element ring in Native American belief, a ring cut into quarters by bars of red, yellow, white and blue. Interwoven with the bars was a pentagram. The overlaying and underlaying star was a purple so dark it might as well have been black.

She swallowed, remembering the first cut when she was barely seven years old, and the last not many years ago. Dean had been there for that. Hell, he'd influenced it.

Buckshot sat in the middle of the hall and cocked his ears at her. He gave a small woof and Celia jumped slightly. And sighed, the last thing she wanted right then was to deal with either Sam or Dean. A person of her temperament, her raising, could only handle interaction with the same people for only so long. Especially when the majority of the interactions was old fashioned medical attention.

Celia breezed over and gently cupped Buckshot's jaw lifting his head to look her in the eye.

"Hey baby." She sighed and rubbed her thumb along the side of the dog's muzzle. She straightened and rolled back her shoulders.

"C'mon then." She waved her hand for the dog to follow and walked into her bed room, the shepherd a step behind and she half shut the door, stalked over and set her alarm on the radio clock and collapsed into her bed with an exhausted sigh. Buckshot casually dumped himself on the end of the bed and stretched out, falling asleep almost instantly. Celia hugged her pillow to her chest and drifted into a world of nightmarish dreams.

**…**

Sam and Dean looked between each other as Valentine continued to rub himself against the red flannels Dean had slipped into. The white dog only settled after Dean assuringly patted the animal's shoulder. Sam shook his head and exited the room with gruff good night to his brother and casually stole the pillow and quilt off of the bed with a snarl after from Dean. Sam didn't want to be so far away from his brother as being upstairs. Especially when Dean was still teetering on the knife fine edge of critical illness, it was hard to even be down the hall when the majority of their lives had been spent within arm's length of each other as they slept. The couch was fine by Sam. He stopped briefly in the kitchen, patting Rosie on the skull and rubbing the cooling aloe gel across his skin before planting himself on the couch.

His spine against the back of the couch and his legs bent towards his chest he started to doze almost immediately. As he relaxed down to sleep in the russet colored cushions he didn't believe Celia for a second that he would have to share the space with a calf.

Until an annoyed and loud maw passed moist hot air over his face. Sam's eyes snapped open and he looked dead at Rosie. The calf swished her tail and cocked her head at him. Sam reached out with a now instinct to pat and satisfy the calf before shutting his eyes and wiggling down deeper into the giving plush of the couch. Rosie laid back her ears and lowed again with a snort. Again Sam reached out and patted the calf without even bothering to open his eyes, she jerked out from under his hand with as much of a growl as a cow was possible at giving. She snorted, came to resolute solution and without much more hesitation vaulted her bulk up onto the couch. Sam yelped as the calf trod on his hip and legs. Sam pushed himself up and twisted to glare at the calf. Rosie turned once around, bent her legs and dumped her hundred pound weight in the space left between the backs of Sam's legs and the back of the couch. The calf dropped her head heavily across Sam's hip, snorted once and twitched her ears back.

The stubborn chocolate eyes of the calf and the startled cinnamon eyes of the young Winchester locked. The Red Fur calf lifted her head and snorted loudly in Sam's face, as if to say 'Shut up, I'M letting YOU sleep here'. She twitched her ears back and draped her head back across Sam's hip and shut her eyes.

Sam looked down at the calf and then let out a slightly hysteric little laugh and then settled back into the cushions. He decided that he could rack this up to the many stories he might have a chance to tell grandkids one day.

The thought of grandchildren struck a sour note and turned bitter in his stomach. Wistful thinking. He allowed the coax of the cortizone drug pull him down into a dreamless sleep. He didn't even notice Rosie starting to snore.

**…**

Dean draped himself over the bed and pressed his face into the cool of the pillow. His hand reached under the fabric and brushed his fingers over the gun stock and the knife hilt. It comforted him. Valentine belly crawled up next to him and curled up into his side.

Dean smiled and draped an arm over the dog with a deep sigh he felt himself settle, glad to have the dog's comforting weight next to him.

_Maybe I should get a dog_ he thought through a fever struck mind. He forced his stomach to settle from rolling around and scratching at his stomach and throat. His esophagus was sensitive and burned from dry heaving and vomiting and he didn't want to go through it again, his skin felt flushed and like his brother he was glad that he allowed Celia to talk him into the flannel bottoms. The seemingly cooler air did him good. He didn't want to sleep, the realization struck him fully and he pushed himself back up. Valentine whined quietly as Dean forced strength into his jerky and unsteady movements and planted his feet on the floor. He pushed himself up and stood with teeth grit to settle himself for a minuet then started for the door. His steps were hitched and shivering but he forced more and more strength into them. Dean stiffly passed out of the room, telling his stomach to stay put every few seconds. Survival screamed at him to forget it and go back to bed, listen to Celia sweat it out, sleep it off, go back to bed.

_I can't trust her._ He growled quietly. _I can't._

That excuse drove him into the kitchen, Valentine's claws clicked lightly on the hard wood behind him as the dog followed ready to lunge forward and steady him. Dean shuffled across the stone tiled kitchen and went straight for his leather jacket, still draped over the back of a chair at the table. He sighed quietly and with shaking hands dug into his pocket.

He froze.

His wallet was in place, along with fake i.d.s and a few crumpled dollar bills. But no pill bottle.

Valentine pinned his ears back and sniffed quietly.

Panic flooded Dean's systems; he tore into the jacket like a wild animal, shoving his hand into each pocket. He came up with everything but anything that would keep sleep away. Dena panted, panic and stress sufficiently spiking his fever and rolling his stomach painfully. His arms shook and he licked his dry lips. There weren't enough fluids in his body to sweat or he would have done that, too. He looked wildly around the room.

Valentine pinned back his ears and sniffed. He didn't like Dean's color. Without more Valentine stalked forward and closed his jaws around Dean's forearm and locked his grip.

Dean jerked back violently, instinct reaction to the feeling of teeth grazing across his skin, no matter how light and gentle. He looked down at Valentine; his chest was starting to heave in pained breath.

The big dog blinked slowly and sniffed quietly, then with an authoritative, gentle growl he tugged. The weight nearly threw Dean over on his shivering legs. Valentine tugged again and pulled Dean back towards the quest room. Dean passed a final sad look across the kitchen, his mind suddenly so fogged that he couldn't think straight. Dean followed the dog shakily, flinching each time he remembered that Valentine's teeth were digging lightly into his forearm.

The white shepherd dragged him back to the bed and only let him go when Dean sat back on the edge of the bed. A wave of sickening dizziness struck Dean so hard he couldn't sit up. He slumped down into the mattress and bed. He groaned, shivering violently and feeling sick. Valentine whined and climbed back onto the bed, settling down against the young man's flushed skin and whined. The big white dog licked gently across the insides of Dean's wrist, soothing him as best he could. Dean seemed to calm and moaning falling into a fitted sleep, going back to the dreamscape of the city and the desert, the horse that was stuck in slow motion and the boulder grove.

Valentine settled into the mattress and licked his jowls quietly. Trying to stay as quiet and still as Dean shivered in his sleep.

**…**

_Saturday; September 1 - 1154 Behemiel Road: The Greer Woundedheart Ranch, Tuscarora; Nevada_

Sam blinked once, the harrowing buzzing of a radio alarm clock somewhere above him penetrating his sleep for a second before it stopped and he fell back into the flow of unconsciousness.

His sleep was lighter then and he shifted when he heard the sound of light footsteps and clicking claws across the hardwood floor.

Rosie shifted and with a sleep muffled grunt stumbled over Sam's legs and stomach to drop down to the floor. She lowed quietly and swatted her tail, the end of the hair smacking across Sam's face. The younger Winchester grunted in surprise and pain for a split second before pushing himself up. He sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing his face and watery eyes trying to watch the Red Fur calf amble out of sight. He was somewhat glad that Rosie had been there, even though he now smelled roughly like methane and animal sweat. She saved him the trouble of panicking and trying to understand where he was.

He swallowed dryly, licking his lips to wet the dry and cracked flesh. He hunched over and braced the heels of his palms into his face.

Celia walked passed the couch and glanced at Sam as she tied her hair up and back and pulled her brown Stetson down over her horns and forehead. She quirked an eyebrow at his spastic mop of hair and hunched form. She didn't bother to speak to him, knowing his blood-lines he was no doubt probably going to the bathroom then fall back asleep.

She tugged a fresh blue plaid flannel shirt over a clean white tee shirt and stone washed jeans.

Celia turned and walked down the hall and gently pushed open the guest room door. She hesitated; listening until she was sure that Dean's wheezing was even, even if it was shallow. She crossed the room silently and bent over his frame. Dean was stretched out on his stomach, one arm draped over the side of the bed and his fingers brushing the cool hard wood. He hadn't bothered to dig under the sheets; she was glad that he had taken her advice to put on the flannel pants though she was sure he could have gone without the tee shirt. The otter totem was still secured around his wrist but the leather was soaked all the way through with his sweat.

Valentine pulled his head up as her hand brushed over his fur lightly. The big dog blinked quietly and twisted to lift a hind leg and scratch at his ear.

Celia brushed her hand feather light over Dean's neck and up the side of his face. A thin, sour sheen of sweat covered his skin; at least his body was starting to rebuild the fluids that he needed. It was a good sign. But he was still fevered and his shivering was constant, by the looks of the bowl next to the bed he'd emptied everything else he had in his system into the steel. She sighed quietly and pressed the smallest bit of pressure into his temple, trying to comfort him. Dean flinched and curled in up on himself a little but the strength went out of him just as quickly and he was limp muscle in a few seconds. Celia sighed sadly, she ran her fingers through his hair absently and almost playfully tugging at a few strands, not enough to even send the sensation to his over taxed brain.

She was extremely tempted to grab a handful and yank, or her personal favorite method of 'wake-Dean-ups', her slobberiest, most saliva spat, most hardcore Wet Willy possible.

She bit back a snicker. She couldn't be sure but she was almost a hundred percent that she was the only one that packed the sand to wake Dean Winchester by yanking his hair or a Wet Willy.

Sam might.

She hung her head, hell she didn't even know the kid. Not that wasn't right, she knew the kid, not the man. She knew Sammy. Not Sam.

She knew the Sammy that got lost into hours of long winded reading, or hugging tightly to the rolling shoulder of a black pony, flushed with fear and excitement, or mud caked and wild-eyed and pressured by his sibling and peers to keep his mouth shut about what they had done all day. She knew Sammy the mustang colt with fire in his heart and the sun in his eyes that couldn't even keep his hooves on the ground, not the long legged, gaited horse he had become that did nothing but arched neck, loping circles.

She didn't know Sam.

"Well, that's gonna change." She said quietly and resolute, pushed herself up off the bed, uncharacteristically letting Dean sleep. It was three in the morning or so. She scrubbed the back of her head and looked down at Dean. "What the hell am I gonna do with y'all?" She asked as she heard the tell tale sound of the bathroom door closing. She bent and scooped up the fluid filled bowl and the spoiled rice.

She slipped out of the room with Valentine on her heels and left the door slightly open. She stalked down the hall and into the kitchen. She dumped the rice into the trash and the contents of the Dean's stomach into the sink, cranking on the scalding hot water all the way. Celia filled a pot with water and set it to boil then went back to rinsing the steel bowl and the sink out until there was no trace of bodily fluids or smell to linger. The metal of the bowl was hot enough to briefly scorch her fingers. She tugged a purple Gatorade out of the refrigerator and a bottle of lemonade. She crossed to the cupboard and pulled down a plastic water bottle, Elijah's. She filled it with cold water and a few ice cubes, pulling out a Sharpie from the junk drawer she wrote 'DEAN W.' on each one, on the Gatorade she wrote '7:00 AM' and on the lemonade '10:00 AM'. She set two of the three into the door of the refrigerator, kept the water and took the bowl back into what was good as Dean's room, now. He hadn't stirred at all from his sleep, much less woken up. She set the bowl on the floor in its usual place and set the ice water next to it.

_Please keep the water down Dean. I don't want to have to stick ya with an i.v._ she thought and lightly ran a hand over his hair again before slipping out of the room again.

Dean's eyes flicked open as the sensation of the touch reached him deep in his swirling fogs of fevered nightmares and dreams, glazed, dulled and feeling crusted he caught the last of Celia's progress out of the room and sight. Dean settled back into his sleep and forgot all together that Celia had even touched him.

She went back to the kitchen and pulled out a pad of note paper. A silhouette of a horse trotted across the top of the page.

She pulled out a pen and started writing, hoping that Sam would follow orders as smoothly from paper as he did as word of mouth. She wrote the date at the top of the note out of habit. The Greers dated and timed everything to prevent a mix up or an overlap of instruction. That sort of mistake could cost lives.

_3:45 am Saturday, Sept. 1_

_Sam,_

_Dean's still in a state as far as I could tell this morning, he can't seem to get fluids down and keep them that way. He was sweating, a good sign but not enough. He's having trouble maybe it will come easier from you. _

_When you're up shake him up too and try and get him to drink the water if he hasn't already started it, it's next to the bed. There's a Gatorade for him as seven, wake him up and force it down his throat if you have to, the same for the lemonade at ten. Wait for me before trying solid food, he didn't handle the rice very well._

_I should be back in around noon or so, I'll fill the script with Matt and bring it in for you. The laundry is in the dryer._

_Help yourself to the fridge and television or anything on the shelves, let the machine get the phone. Channel Two if you need anything._

She hesitated for a second then wrote as an old habit and after thought. It was a line that for many years drew wide smiles and laughter.

_Don't break anything, please._

_Red_

The note seemed so formal to her. She was used to short two liners and maybe a list of times, meds or names. She used to people understanding her lingo. She sighed quietly, ripped the sheet from the pad and set it on the table.

She stalked into the mud room and yanked her boots on, laced and tied them up grabbed a spare walkie-talkie and set it to channel two before setting it on top of the note. She set about her chores of the early morning. Celia pulled the lid off a metal can in the mud room and using a plastic cup inside poured a helping into the steel dog bowls. Buckshot and Valentine falling on their food without much more ado and Rosie waiting patiently while Celia opened another feed can and poured a large cup full of sweet grain into the calf's bowl. She lowed and snorted nosily into the food as she started eating. Celia paced back to the mud room and pulled down a sleek laptop and flipped it open and on. They were ranch people, born and raised but they weren't in the dark ages. The machine whirred to life as she set it on the table to warm up. She rummaged in the refrigerator and crunched into an apple and went into the cupboard for a Poptart.

When the laptop signaled it was ready she checked her files and e-mails. Just a note from Elijah to let her know what had been going on. She sent a note back completely devoid of information about the Winchesters and shut the computer down, leaving it on the table.

The pot whistled and she rushed over to yank it off the stove before the noise got around the house.

She glanced around, suddenly aware that she had no idea where Sam was.

"Sam?" She sad quietly. Then tensed.

Far off the high ringing note of a wolf howling rolled over the desert plains like thunder and sent a chill of fear down her spine. She stiffened.

"Sam?" She asked sharply. Again only silence met her, until the tone of the wolf broke again, practically screaming into the desert. The voice rang clear as day and another rose to meet it. The high soprano of the first voice was harmonized by the deep baritone of the second. Chills ran in shivers down her spine and fear struck her full on. But it wasn't fear for herself.

"Sammy!" She barked and rushed to the front door, it was slightly ajar. She panicked and yanked the door open crashing out and letting the screen door slam shut behind her. "Sam!"

"What?" The startled note in his voice cooled her blood, she breathed out heavily and relaxed, letting her heart slow down. It was still dark, the tiniest streaks of light breaking as the sun struggled to rise and chase off the darkness. The sounds of night insects and life settling suddenly into silence at their voices and the voices of the wolves out of sight.

"Sam, what are ya doing?" She asked, masking her panic with curiosity.

Sam shrugged, and looked out across the rolling grasses and land. The sorrowful singing note of wolves echoing in a hymn chorus. Celia bristled but hid it, personally she had no problems with wolves, but when it came to Sam…

"It felt kind of hot in there so I came to get some air." Sam muttered, yawning and leaning back against the rigid wood of the porch swing. It rocked gently under his weight, creaking quietly. A light breeze sent a shimmering wave along over the grasses and rolled up to chill Celia's exposed skin and ruffle Sam's wild hair. The voices carried on the wind and wrapped around them. Celia swallowed and glanced at Sam. His eyes were glazed and far away, the deep brown dulled and looked pale in the cast moon light.

Celia bristled tightly and started to speak but settled herself when Sam did first.

"I don't feel very well." He muttered quietly.

Far off the voices of wolves pitched sharply.

"How so Sam?" She asked quietly.

"I…" he hesitated and glanced at her through dulled eyes, "…it feels like there's a hole in my chest…in my heart…its hard to breathe."

"Sam, I told ya not to listen to the wolves." She said gently and crossed to him and set a hand on his shoulder.

He tensed a little and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "You talk about them like they're all evil." Celia coiled tightly and sighed quietly, "Sam. There are good wolves and bad ones, and there are more bad ones than good and it would do ya best not to listen to any of them." She said as solidly and coolly as she could. She turned and looked out passed him to the rolling land and gritting her teeth each time a wolf lifted his voice to the night and sang. Her grip tightened and tugged gently, Sam resisted for a second then rose, towering a solid foot over her. He looked down at her with blank confusion and followed her almost puppet like with her hand pushing gently on the small of his back.

"I wanted to listen for a few minuets." Sam muttered. "I haven't heard wolves in a long time."

"We have enough problems dealin' with Coyote, we don't need to sweetin' the pot with damn wolves." She growled and Sam looked at her strangely.

"What?"

"Remember Sam, all they do it sing sad songs and pull at bad memories. I warned ya 'bout it last night."

Sam nodded quietly and cast a glance over his shoulder, obviously trying to listen to the voices.

"Sammy, c'mon now. They're talkin' 'bout shit ya don't need to know." Celia coaxed. That seemed to have gotten Sam and he pulled open the screen door and held it for her, following on her heels and pushed the oak shut, sufficiently shutting out the howls drifting after them. Sam didn't hesitate to cross back over to the couch and collapse back into the cushions and rumpled quilt. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

Celia sighed, pushed her hat back to scratch at her hairline then pulled it back down.

This would be more of a hassle if Sam made it a habit to listen to wolves. You couldn't keep someone from deciding they wanted to be melancholy, if it was going to be like this she better enlist the help of one of the 'good' wolves to keep Sam in check.

She wondered what it was that drew him to wolves to argue their integrity. She sighed and went back to her chores, letting Alamo in and Valentine, Buckshot and Rosie out, grabbed a radio, her bone hilt knife and set them into place on her belt. She trotted out the door swallowing a cup of coffee in a flash and flinching as it burned her throat. Celia pulled the oaken door shut behind her and trotted out into the yard. She went into the, pushing the sliding doors open and she stood in the doorway and stretched, arching her back and rolling her shoulders.

She let out a sharp whistle that made each head yank up and snort, the horses threw their heads over the scooped bars. They nickered loudly at her and tossed their heads, hooves clattering against the wooden stall doors.

She jogged to the canisters of feed and filled the chow buckets, quickly going through each stall and filling bowls with the grain. She sealed the grain bins up and opened a smaller rubber tub, filled another feed scoop and dumped the cat chow into a shallow feed bowl. The feral and tame cats watched with lamp lit eyes from their places but didn't quest out just yet. Celia pulled on her leather gloves and hoisted a square bale of hay up onto her hip and carried it along the aisle to other set doors. She dropped the bale, pushed the doors open into the early morning air and hauled the hay back up. She lugged the bale out of the barn about a hundred yards away and tossed it into a hay ring, a seven foot by seven foot ring of red pained iron with curved bars arching systematically around the to edge of the ring. She leaned over the edge of the ring and cut the wire free from the bale. With a sigh she went back and got another bale, she repeated this six times, twisting the wire into manageable coils and hung them with a hundred others on a nail above the feed barrels. Celia sighed, walked down to the first stall and opened the door, she stopped the black mare, Witch as she tried to walk out chewing the last of her food, Celia pulled a pale red halter from the door and buckled it over the mares head then got out of her way. The black horse tossed her head and galloped out into the open air. Celia stopped the painted mare, Sanuye, and buckled a red halter over her head, but instead of turning her loose she clipped a lead into place and tied the mare to the hitch ring on the stall door. She left the mare with a pat on the nose. Celia moved to the next stall and opened to door, again stopping the horses as they tried to walk out buckling nylon halters over their heads. Mares and fillies got halters of the worn red color and studs, colts and geldings got ragged blue. Each horse took the halters without argument but broke into canters or gallops out of the barn and into the open pasture air.

She went through and quickly fed the three bulls and the goats then started on the cattle.

Once all the animal's save the painted mare were turned out Celia fetched out a wheel barrow and piled on six, fifty pound bags of cattle feed. Celia wheeled the barrow out to a long feed trough. She lifted each bag of corn feed up onto her shoulder and used her knife to slice the paper of the bag, the feed cascaded out into the wooden trough, Celia walking slowly along to make sure the feed spilled evenly. Once all four bags were empty she crossed to the piper gate were Red Furs and Black Angus stuck their heads between the bars and lowed to her. She pulled the gate open and the cattle bounded out into the open pasture and shoved their faces into the grain before falling on the hay or started to wander and graze the harsh desert grass.

"Half way there." She muttered, wheeling the barrow back into the barn and piling the empty bags up with countless others.

She set to work mucking out the stalls, the painted mare waiting patiently while Celia raked and shoveled out manure and damp shavings into the wheel barrow, pushed the barrow out to the manure pile away from the barn and came back to do another stall. She was sweating by the time she yanked out several massive package bales of stall shavings, cutting them open with her bone hilt knife and spread the shavings down and hosed out the wheel barrow. She made sure each stall door was left open and with a sigh went into the tack room to gather up a comfortable leather, stock saddle, blanket, breast collar, bridle, saddle bags and her Winchester rifle and sling. Valentine and Buckshot sat in the barn doorway watching as she tacked up the painted mare.

Celia tightened up the cinch and adjusted the breast collar, finally snugging up the bit and led the painted mare out of the forward doors and into the yard. The mare stood still while Celia slid the door shut and then mounted up. She swung her leg over and settled comfortably into the saddle with a sigh. The mare trotted up to the front gate with a click of Celi'a tongue. The mare sidestepped into range and Celia leaned over reached down and unstrung the chain latch of the gate and backing the mare up swung it open.

Her radio buzzed to life suddenly. _"Cousin Red?"_

Celia reached down and pulled the radio free and turned it up, "What's up Jess?"

"_We got a home wrecker on the Omani's herd."_

Celia sighed, like she said, it was a Saturday and by principal the day was supposed to be miserable.

"What she look like and I'll bring her in." Celia said, checking to make sure that she had a lariat to do the job of bringing in a rouge mustang.

"_Bay paint, she's half bald faced, though I doubt ya'll miss her."_

"Alright, thanks Jessie, go take care of yer momma. She needs ya, thanks for coverin' yer daddy's walk tonight."

Jessie Cree's voice dropping pitch and was thick with nervousness. _"Thanks Cousin Red. I'm out."_

Celia settled the radio back into place and rubbed a hand across her eyes as the sun started to break through the dark.

"Let's go to work." She said with a whistle. Valentine and Buckshot barked and Sanuye tossed her head trotting out onto the gravel street and broke into a canter towards town, the two shepherds on flanking her. Rosie bounded up and stopped at the gate to maw after them with flicking ears.

* * *

**Kind of a filler chapter, I personally like to read but hate to write filler chapters and that's why they take so long, the next chapter is more promising.**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	10. Homewrecker

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-Fredrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Homewrecker**

"**Homewrecker  
I know what you're doin'  
You think you're gonna ruin what I got, But you're not  
Yeah you little go getter  
I'll teach you a lesson  
If you get to messin' with my man  
You don't stand a chance  
No, you're just a homewrecker..."**

**- Gretchen Wilson -_Homewrecker_**

Sam blinked awake and shifted around on the couch he had a split second to breathe before he plunged off of the couch and slammed into the hardwood floor, his head striking the wood with a painful crack. Sam gasped wetly and whimpered rubbing his skull and trying to force away the throbbing. He slumped onto the floor and groaned quietly. Sam licked his lips and looked around at the ceiling.

It wasn't that he didn't realize where he was or how he'd gotten to this point. It was the lack of immediate interaction with an animal that struck him.

He'd only spent sixteen or so hours at the ranch and he found himself extremely used top the idea that no matter what he did or where her went in the house there was an animal. A dog or cat or a cow or something walking passed him or staring at him.

There was none.

It instilled in him a small pang of loneness. Sam sat up and pushed himself to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, ruffling his hair and rubbing his noise. He bumped into the wall and suppressed a yelp of pain. He flinched and shrank in on himself in mild agony. He glanced down at his shoulder, the flesh that had made contact with the wall was so red it seemed inflamed. It looked like his skin was caked and dry and starting to bubble. It sent a flair of pain and fear through him. It looked like acid burn. Sam suddenly wanted to know exactly what the hell was going on. He heard crackling and someone speaking over a radio before it died. He looked up, and noticed the walkie-talkie and the shift of paper on the table. He went over and looked down to brief the note. Still disturbed by the bubbling of his skin Sam reached fore the radio and flicked it on, hesitating and licking his dry lips for a second then spoke over the radio.

"Red?"

There was a crackled and hesitation and Sam started to speak again. Then:

"_Yeah?"_

He sighed, "Red, its Sam."

"_Everythin' alright?"_ Celia's voice was sharp over the radio.

Sam felt a spike of relief at the concern in her tone, "I just woke up, there's something wrong with my skin." He stammered nervously.

There was a sigh from the other end, either it was annoyance or relief. _"Sam does it look sort of like bubbles are startin' to come up?"_

"Yeah."

"_Yer quick on the heal then Sam. Leave it alone, yer skin is tryin' to start peelin'."_

"_This the kid with the sunburn, Celia?"_ Sam started a little at the third voice over the radio, rough and thick with Nevada accent and the there was ring of laughter in the male's voice. Sam berated himself for a second before realizing that it was stupid to set to a different channel on the walkie-talkies for everyone. He was unsure how many people were listening so he kept his answers cropped.

"_Yeah, Pastor Bill."_ Celia replied to the other voice.

"_Already callin' ya Red huh? Hey kid!"_  
Sam started at the greeting from the evident pastor and he swallowed dryly. "Um…hey. Thanks Red, I just spooked a little." Sam rushed, wanting to get off the radio in a hurry. Though he was sure that if the line had been secure between himself and Celia he would have probably tried to drag out the conversation as long as possible.

"_Alright Sam." _She returned and Sam set the radio onto the table. It crackled a little.

"_Kid's name is Sam?"_ The male voice of the pastor asked.

"_Yeah, Pastor Bill we're workin' here. Save the gossip for the Birds, will ya?"_ Red returned and Sam felt a spark of gratefulness for her defense and diversion. He took the note in his hands and read it again with a clearer head and mind than before. He glanced at the time on the note then up at the clock on the wall. He jumped, it was nearly eight-thirty. He hadn't slept so late for the better part of three years. He'd missed the Gatorade round for Dean.

He set the note back on the table, rushed to grab the Gatorade out of the refrigerator and started for the quest room. He didn't hesitate at the door like Celia did and marched right in.

"Dean?" He hesitated then, halfway across the room. Dean had rolled over onto his back, one arm resting across his stomach and the other flung out across the mattress. His hand was limp half curled and his fingers twitching every now and then. He'd stopped sweating and the water bottle was still untouched. Dean didn't move or shift and the shallow rise of his chest seemed non-existent; he seemed more like a cadaver than an illness struck young man.

"Dean." Sam sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder. Dean groaned painfully and grunted thickly as if he was trying to surface from a pool of liquid thicker than water.

"Dean, c'mon man." Sam shoved his shoulder harshly.

Dean muttered incoherently under his breath. His eyes flicked open then shut again; his hands came up and he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Sam?" He muttered under his breath.

"Yeah Dean, its me." Sam sighed, glad that the deathly still frame of Dean had only be perception. Dean mumbled under his breath and sniffed loudly.

"God, y-you smell like a c-cow." Dean stuttered, his tremors making his voice ragged. Sam tensed up, he hadn't noticed Dean's shivering.

"I'll shower. Dean are you alright?"

"What?" Dean asked blearily.

"You're shaking." Sam observed and lifted one of Dean's arms up into his line of vision, the muscle and sinew was jerking under Dean's skin and his hand shaking. Sam flinched at the heat of his brother's skin. Dean feebly swatted him away and made to roll over, he stopped moving and grit his teeth, hissing in pain the slumped into the mattress and started to fall back into fitful sleep.

"No Dean, stay up. You need to drink something. Here, it's purple, you're favorite." Sam forcibly pulled his brother to sit up and the Gatorade into his hands.

"Leave m-me alone S-Sam." Dean growled and tried to pull away from him. Sam snarled low in his throat.

"Dean, c'mon man."

"Sam-"

"Dean! You're sick, alright. Flung-out-on-your-back sick. Heat stroke, dehydration, the works. Dean it is sickeningly easy to die from that stuff! You don't even seem to be trying to get over it!"

Dean snarled, far from it. All he had been doing was trying to get over it. 'Dean' was trying, 'Survival' was trying but Dean's body was rejecting everything without question. It had finally had enough. The heat stroke had been the final blow, to much for his body having endured weeks of abuse, both inwardly and outwardly inflicted. Dean was so screwed up his body couldn't tell was what good from what was bad and washed out everything on principal that it refused to take any other breed of influence for it's own safety.

There is a reaction in the human body, a survival driven reaction that only comes to head when it is needed. The mind is normally in complete control of the body, but when the mind starts to falter, corrupt and inflict destruction on itself the body sends it warnings. But it comes to a point when the strain is too great and the head and neck twist too far in the wrong direction. The body shuts down, saying to the mind _you've lost control, just lie down, rest a little while and I'll take over until you get your senses back_. It's called the knockout factor and fighters of all kinds; boxers, police, and all Hunters knew the factor all to well.

It had finally caught up to Dean.

"Sam, just l-leave me alone. P-please…"

The word 'please' struck Sam like a slap across the face. It was a desperation kind of word, at least when Dean used it. Sam swallowed dryly and tried to look his brother in the eye but Dean's head hung low and his eyes half lidded made it impossible.

"Dean. Just try and drink this and I'll leave you alone, I swear. Drink it…please."

Dean flinched, the same reaction Sam had for his use of the word was returned in full. Dean's eyes flicked up briefly and he snarled low in his throat. Sam's eyes had taken that misty, soft 'puppy-dog' shine. Dean wondered if the kid even knew he did it or was it just some natural reaction. A defensive reaction to get Dean to do what ever he wanted him to do. With a low snarl Dean snatched the Gatorade from his brother, practically tore the cap off and choked slugging back a long draw from the liquid.

Sam smiled slightly and sighed in relief. The younger brother looked away and dropped the smile from his face when Dean glared at him.

Sam cleared his throat and watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as the elder Winchester slowly tried to drain the entire sports drink in one setting, even though he was sure that it wouldn't last much more than half an hour in his system before he threw up. God he hated vomiting.

"So." Sam rubbed his hands down his thighs and cleared his throat. "…um…What do you want to do?"

Dean gave him a look like 'are you kidding'. Sam sighed and wrung his hands nervously.

"C'mon Dean, you've been in this room since yesterday. Don't you want to go look around the house or the yard?"

Dean's eyebrow went up and he gave Sam another look. Sam was doing it again, same thing with his heart and when he was in his coma. Sam was trying to rush a recovery; push his brother back into health forcibly if he needed to. It was a reckless, dangerous and selfish reaction, even though Sam wanted his brother back on his feet, he wanted him on his feet NOW. It was a double edged sword that Sam just couldn't keep his hands off of.

"Not really." Dean muttered, Sam drooped, his eyes already starting to go big and soft again.

"Dean-"

"I thought you said you were g-going to leave me a-alone, Florence Nightingale…" Dean bit out a little sharper than he would have appreciated. Sam looked struck and crestfallen. He had to come at this from a different angle if he wanted to get Dean moving.

"Well, what about the fires and predators?" Sam prodded. Dean perked up at the mention of the job.

"Let's hit t-the books, geek boy." Dean snapping into action as much as he was able at his point. "I know Red has something to d-do with this and there's s-something that she keeps saying that I w-want to know a-about."

Dean was shaking, less violently than before and pushed himself slowly up on his feet. He wobbled but moved on his own steam, his hand wrapped tightly around the plastic of the bottle.

Sam got to his feet and rushed to walk beside his brother, resisting the urge to reach out and steady his arm. He knew Dean would only shove him off and probably knock himself over in the process.

**…**

"Coyote…coyote…god there's a billion and a half sites about coyote lore." Sam muttered, skimming another website of drawings of coyotes in legend. These were more modern ones about cowboys being tricked out of their meals or clothes or horses. He sighed and flicked back to the main search.

They'd been working for hours with Alamo curled up under the table and snoring quietly.

"Yeah well, she won't shut up about the coyotes." Dean muttered, having helped himself to the Greer's laptop, though it wasn't much good his vision was swimming and blurred but at least keeping himself busy was making it easier to keep water and Gatorade and later lemonade down, even finish half a cup of coffee before giving up on it. He was trying to use any information that Celia herself had logging into the computer about the situation out on the plains to build and idea, a pattern of what was happening. He was currently building a migrational map of the fires movement across the plains. He was looking for some kind of pattern, something to give away what was happening.

"Doctor Halen, the guy that came to look at us mentioned a coyote, too." Sam pulled up a page and started to read a new Native American story about coyote and his antics with a spider and a 'Grandfather' rock. Sam sat back and sighed, ruffling his still damp hair. The shower had been short lived; Sam hated the feeling of water running over his sunburn. The star bursts of pain had been shell shocking and Sam had given up, resisting the urge to scratch and tear at the bubbling of his skin and pulled the clean tee shirt out from the dryer to resist the urge to scratch. The aloe gel helped some but just looking at the discolored rises of his skin made him nervous. He tugged at the clean tee shirt and scratched at his knee. The jean fabric felt thick and heavy compared to the weightless flannel bottoms.

Dean had managed to slip a clean shirt on and swapped over to jeans as well but it was obvious that he was suffering more than Sam as his fever stayed steady and made his head hang and eyes droop.

"Dean we need more to go on than just 'coyote'." Sam muttered, rubbing his face, scrubbing at his eyes, he flinched at the pain flaring across his cheek bones and nose bridge.

Dean sighed and leaned forward over the screen, trying to see the movement of the fires better on his animated map. Dean's shivering had subsided some and with it his stutter but the older brother refrained from speaking and so did not respond to Sam's sighs or grumbles.

"Do you remember anything else from the dream?" Sam asked. Dean glanced at his brother, he had chosen to keep a few details about the dream to himself, particularly the part about Valentine and Celia being there at all.

Dean shook his head. "Why do you need more? What you have to work with is normally enough for you."

"Dean, there is an incredible amount of information here. And it's all either consistent or inconsistent. I mean the coyote is such a staple in Native American lore and even modern myth and good old fashioned urban legend. Sometimes he's the spirit of God; sometimes he is God, a messenger or most of the time a trickster. He's cruel and compassionate. A hero or the devil himself, he gave man fire and brought eternal death to the world, hated by everyone, loved by everyone, made man in the beginning; I mean goddamnit Dean it's to broad, to much information. We need to narrow it down some how."

Dean bit back a growl and bought himself some time by taking a long drink to finish off the lemonade. He thought back and drew on everything he remembered from his fever scorched memory.

"Unanni." He rasped. A foggy memory of a hand brushing through his hair and muffled words over his head.

"What?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Unanni," Dean repeated. "Try searching for 'Unanni'. I think that's the name of it, try that."

Sam shrugged and sighed and typed in the search.

"Nothing." Sam muttered. "Not even a hit on a language."

Dean sighed. Sam glanced at the clock and froze, it was a quarter after noon. Celia said she would be back at twelve. The last thing they needed was for her to come in and find Dean hacking around on her computer in her files.

"Dean!" The older brother jumped, startled and staring at him.

"What?"

"Copy everything on her hard drive and send it to me now." Sam said sharply.

"What?"

"Shit, move!" Sam rushed from his seat at the table to rush around and hunch over the black laptop, practically shoving Dean out of the way, he reached blindly into his laptop satchel and pulled out a blank jump-drive and set it into the . Dean glared at him but watched quietly as Sam copied the entire hard drive, all the files and sub files even website favorites and jpeg files full of digital photos and the work that Dean had done onto the drive, swiftly cleaned the computer of any sign that Dean or himself had even touched the machine and shut it down.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean growled.

"Red's supposed to be coming back soon. I don't think she would appreciate us hacking around on her computer." Sam closed the laptop and pushed it aside.

Dean grunted and slumped back against the rigid wood of his chair. He shut his eyes and sniffed tiredly. Sam settled his hand on his hip and fingered the jump-drive in the other. Sam glanced at the walkie-talkie, silent for sometime, still sitting on the table. He reached across and lifted it. Dean watched Sam's moves silently.

"Red?" Sam called across the airwaves and waited.

No response. Sam checked to make sure the radio was on and then tried again.

"Red? It's Sam."

"_BUSY RIGHT NOW!"_

The sharp shout from the other end of the walkie-talkie made both brothers jump and stare at each other. A spike of worry crossed both young men and they straightened up.

"Red? What's going on?" Sam asked sharply over the radio.

"_I SAID BUSY SAM!"_

"Red-"

"_SAM! BACK THE HELL OFF! I'M ON MY WAY JUST SHUT UP!"_

Dean bristled at the way that Celia barked at Sam over the radio but both brothers stiffened when an inhuman sound echoed over the radio, a noise between a scream and a roar.

Dean was on his feet so fast that he left dizziness behind.

The scream echoed again but it broke into an almost painful whinny of a horse. Sam and Dean stared at each other startled and uncomprehending.

The same noise, the screaming whinny, then a chorus of barking rattled out of the walkie-talkie, but it was louder and clear; coming from not far off outside.

Dean was first to start for the front door, moving on instinct he followed the flow of the house without hesitation, Sam on his heels they trotted out the front door and looked down the road, stiffening and Dean quickly grabbing the railing to balance himself as fever and dizziness slammed into him painfully.

Alamo followed and stood on the other side of the door, whining quietly and trying to see out of the screen.

They watched in confusion and growing nervousness as a heat distorted shape sped towards them.

They waited with baited breath and flinching at the screaming whinny and the snarling barks of dogs.

**…**

Celia leaned low over the painted mare, Sanuye's neck and ground her teeth as the mare galloped hotly to keep up with the insane mustang she was driving in. Buckshot and Valentine were trying to keep up, snapping at the mustang's heels and haunches to keep it in check. The animal bucked and reared in mid stride but struck the ground running, trying to kick the two dogs or the mare and rider pressing in towards its side.

The mustang was a bay, light brown fur and black points broken by irregular white markings on her flanks, sides and shoulders. The face was balded white on the left side, she had one blue eye and one brown. Both were rolling and froth and foam sweat flecked the animal's neck and mouth. Lips drawn back to bare teeth in fear and warning it tried desperately to get away from Celia and Sanuye but neither horse nor rider let up galloping stride for stride with it. In desperation the chased animal lashed out, trying to barrel into Sanuye but the nimble mare lunged forward and sidestepped in mid-gallop, avoiding the teeth and hooves easily. Valentine snapped at the mare's flank and danced out of the way.

The terrified mustang tried to outstrip the painted mare and got no where. Celia clicked in Sanuye's ear and tapped her heels into the mare's belly. Sanuye lunged forward, pressing a stride ahead of the mustang and they came even with the open gate of the Greer ranch yard. Sanuye swung sharply right as Celia tugged lightly on the right hand rein, cutting of the mustang and driving the bay painted animal through the gate and into the yard, both horses still at a full gallop. The mustang bucked and flung itself forward, trying desperately to get away from it's dogged pursuers.

Once passed the gate and into the gravel of the drive Celia sat back in the saddle and pressured back on the reins. Sanuye snorted and skidded up, dancing to a prance in place stop.

Sam and Dean watched in shock and confusion as the bay painted mustang tore passed the parked truck and flatbed bound Impala and around the house, panting and frothing the animal was intent on outstripping around the house and back through the open gate. Valentine broke away galloping up onto the porch, as soon at the white dog was sure he was out of the way he stumbled and limped painfully towards Dean to press in at his side.

"SAM! CLOSE THE GATE NOW!" Celia ordered. Sam jumped and stared at her in shock. "NOW SAM!"

The lanky young man flung himself off the porch and sprinted to the main pipe gate. He grabbed it and hauled with all his strength, the gate jerked loose and swung sharply. Sam tore after it as it slammed into the six foot round rail road tie that stood as the end of the perimeter fence and gate post. He fumbled when it bounced back a little and quickly and sloppily looped the chain over and in place. He let out the breath he'd been holding and looked around to Celia and Dean for more instruction.

"Good boy Sam!" Celia barked and she jerked Sanuye around, the mare trotting quickly to cut off the bay paint as it crashed around the far side of the house. The animal balked, its hooves tearing into the turf and destroying the grass as it turned on its heels and turned to gallop back on it's path back around the house again. Celia whistled and the painted mare broke into a gallop to chase down the panicked bay paint mustang. The feral horse bolted and shrieked, as if screaming to be left alone, the sweat and foam at its jaws were starting to fleck red with blood. The bay paint tore around and charge, doubling its speed straight at Sam and the gate.

"Sam!" Dean barked in fear, the younger brother already reacting, he flung himself over the pipe gate and crashed painfully into the earth on the other side, he yelped in pain as his burned skin ground into the gravel and dirt and his tail bone throbbed painfully. Sam scrambled back as the bay paint skidded its hooves destroying the dirt pack where only seconds before Sam had been standing. The bay paint flung its head between the bars of the pipe gate and shrieked down at Sam, foam flying and teeth bared. The animal yanked its head back, its jaw hitting the metal with a resonate clang and flung away from the gate at a panicked gallop.

"Goddamnit Sam! Why cain't ya hold yer ground! She gets the idea that men are scared of her she'll never settle!" Celia snarled at Sam in rage from the inside of the gate. "Fuckin' useless!" She spat, her eyes red fire and glaring at him she swung Sanuye around to chase down the bay paint.

The horse side stepped and twisted around and charging at Celia and the painted mare. The mustang slammed into Sanuye's chest. Sanuye stumbled whinnying in pain and rearing back to keep from falling over.

"Whoa sister! Stop it!" Celia barked at the panicked mustang. The bay paint frothed and screamed, galloping a top speed circuit of the entire enclosed yard, passed the round pens and the barn and the pipe gates, the parked vehicles and destroying the earth and garden that unfortunately fell under its hooves.

The bay charged around the house, crashing passed Dean on the porch and Sam still sitting in the dirt on the other side of the gate.

"Little sister! Stop it! Whoa sister!" Celia barked at the frenzied animal. The bay paint charged down on Buckshot, the shepherd lunging out of the way and Celia twisting Sanuye around to brace between the dog and the horse. The bay paint swerved and slammed side long into Sanuye's shoulder and Celia's left leg. Sanuye stumbled and side stepped, Celia's face wrenched in pain and she bit back a scream. The bay paint, tore away, back a round the house for the third time.

Celia flung herself off of the painted mare and threw the reins over the horse's neck, yanking a lariat free from the saddle and slapped Sanuye's rump to move, and stepped out into open space quickly checking to make sure the sleeves of her flannel button down were rolled up tightly to her elbows. Sanuye snorted and doubled stepped to canter out of the way and stand at the closed barn doors. The mare was fed up with the insane mustang and the beatings said animal was inflicting on her. Pinning her ears Sanuye snorted and whinnied critically at the now bucking and rearing bay paint. The mustang berserked, finding no way out to freedom from the yard. Its eyes rolled, mouth flung wide and screaming, it flung itself into the air, kicked, bucked and screamed.

The animal seemed tormented, as if possessed.

The bay paint threw up its head and spotted Celia; planted its hooves and lunged forward, charging down on her. The red eyed woman stood her ground, her teeth grit viciously until at the barest last second side stepping to avoid being trampled. The animal dodged aside at the same time, veering away. The bay paint bucked and lashed out in a rage of fear, twisting dangerously close to the Impala and without warning kicked out. Dean's heart stopped for a brief second that he though the clang of hooves on metal was the sound of his baby being assaulted. The bay paint tore away, the side of the Silverado's truck bed caving in under the impact with a twist of metal and the scrape of the white paint being shorn from the frame. The dent had to have been two and a half feet wide and collapsed in from the hooves at least six inches the strike as effective and easily as the side of an aluminum can.

"GODDAMNIT! THAT WAS MY TRUCK!" Celia barked in rage at the drastic damage to the side of her truck. She bared her teeth at the exploding mustang and hissed, a noise that sounded more like it belonged in the throat of a bobcat or a mountain lion.

Pinning ears, eyes rolling and snorting thickly the bay paint wheeled around and charged Celia again.

Celia snarled and braced herself, stretching her stance out and twisting the lariat into a lasso loop and expertly twirled it through the air.

"Bronco ya done just had yer last bust!" She snarled. The mustang bay seemed to take it as a challenge and lunged all its weight forward to double its pace. Dean and Sam both flinched prematurely at what they supposed would be an impact. Celia sidestepped out of the way and threw the lasso. The mustang lunged sideways but the lariat threw over her head.

The bay paint snorted loudly and sprinted away as if the lope of rope wasn't around its neck at all. Celia wrapped the rope tightly around her forearm and braced her stance. She grit her teeth and hauled back on the lasso.

The mustang lunged at the same, gagged painfully and was hurled over sharply as the lasso tightened like a noose around the neck and pressing into the jaw bones. The rope slid, tightened and tore into Celia's arm, burning and cutting into her skin mercilessly. The animal screamed as its fifteen hundred pound weight toppled over, legs splaying out from under it. It slammed into the earth on its side and rolled, legs flailing through the air wildly as the bay paint thrash madly to get its balance back. The animal screamed in shock.

Celia grabbed a hold of the rope and sprinted forward fearlessly. She grabbed a hold of one of the mustang's forelegs and pulled it over. The mustang rolled over onto its side and struggled to start back to its feet. Celia shoved the bay paint's head into the dirt and knelt down on the animal's neck, her knees braced into the straining and sweating flesh of the neck just below the jaw.

The bay paint continued to thrash, kicking on it's side and roared but with Celia's weight on the neck and one hand pressing down on the side of the muzzle, there was no way that animal could swing its neck up to get balance and back to its hooves. The large blue eye glared at Celia and rolled in fear, massive heart slamming into its ribs. Sides heaving the animal jerked but finding no give finally slumped into the earth, dirt matting its fur with the sweat on its skin.

The animal shivered violently and cried pitifully into the earth, ears pinned and muscles strained and exhausted.

"Sam!" Celia barked, making the bay paint flinch and kicked into the earth. The lanky young man jumped and stared at her from the other side of the pipe gate. "Sam fetch me a halter and led from the tack room!"

Before Sam could even realize what has being asked of him Dean was off the porch and jogging across the yard to the barn. He panted, shoving the door back and rushing down the length of the barn, side stepping as Sanuye pushed in after him and rushed into her open stall with ears throw back. Dean snatched a red rope halter off of a nail and a shank hooked lead, he rushed back to the barn door and out. He was next to Celia in a second, handing her the lead and halter, struck suddenly by dizziness and cramped pains in his stomach; he wobbled but stayed on his feet. Celia didn't know it was Dean until she glanced up at him and jumped. She did a bit of a double take, having a feeling of deja-vu but didn't hesitate to take the rope halter and lead.

"Thanks Dean." She said quietly, trying to calm herself down to help calm the terrified animal. "Help me out." She asked quietly. Dean nodded and the bay paint jerked when Dean moved shakily forward. Celia lifted the pressure from the side of the mustang's head and slipped the rope halter over its muzzle and swiftly tied it in place. Then pressed the side of the muzzle down into the dirt again.

"Easy baby, take it easy little sister." Celia soothed, rubbing a hand feather light over the sweat soaked animal's neck in a repeated slow motion. Sam trotted up, standing unsure what to do. He started a step back in shock, the bay paint's ribs and foreleg was sporting scars of having been badly burned recently, the flesh seemed to have been healing, but was still raw and blistered but fur was starting to grow back. The scars were a stomach turning and heart wrenching sight.

"Breathe baby. It's alright, ain't nobody gonna hurt ya now." Celia said glancing up at him. Sam looked over the heaving animal nervously, it was obvious that he wanted to help. She didn't want him to get hurt but robbing him of the chance was more of her concern. She glanced around at Dean.

"Dean, go pull open the gate of the large ring pen and wait there for me." She said quietly and twitched her head towards the larger of the two ring pens. Dean nodded, pushing himself back up to his shaking legs and started for the pen.

"Sam." The young man jumped and looked around at her, "Sam can you come around and pin her down like this? Same way I'm doin'? Just talk to her sweet and pet her like this. Can ya do it?"

Sam nodded slightly.

"Sam I need yer assurance, there's no half-assin' this. She needs our help and a steady hand."

"I'll do it." Sam said resolutely. Celia nodded and waited until Sam was next to her, pressing his hand into the bay paint's muzzle and settling his knee into place next to Celia, once she moved giving him room Sam settled himself in the exact position on the horse and started long passes of his large hand lightly over the terrified animal's neck and down her shoulder.

Celia was up and starting for the barn.

"Celia!" Sam called and she whirled on him with a hissed hush to keep his voice down to keep from spooking the animal. The mustang jerked violently sharply at his voice and muffled a pained nicker into the earth. Sam glanced at the animal then up at Celia, "What's her name?"

Celia sighed heavily, "She's a mustang Sam. We couldn't pronounce it if we knew it."

"Then what should I call her?" Sam asked in a hoarse whisper. Celia like he was mildly insane. She shrugged.

"I don't know Sam, whatever. She's a homewrecker, call her that." Celia turned and rushed for the barn.

"Homewrecker." Sam muttered, toying with the way it sounded and rubbed slow circles across the sweat soaked flesh on the bay paint's white splashed shoulder. "Hey Homewrecker. Take it easy, alright. Red'll take care of you. Easy girl."

He felt a bubble of oddity at talking to the panicked horse but that oddity ebbed and he felt the same twinges of protective nature that he felt when he was trying to stop someone from being hurt on a hunt. He focused all his energy into connecting with this victim and soothing her. Keeping his hands moving in slow circles over her flesh, carefully avoiding the scaring and pain inflamed skin.

The mare seemed to feel it and slumped a little more; some of her fear slipping away. The mustang let out a pained gasp of air, a sickly sad whinny. For all the world Sam thought it a call for help.

Celia came back toting a leather saddle bag over her shoulder of gear to help the horse and glanced at Sam briefly before she knelt next to the mare. She rummaged in the pack and came up with several filled hypodermics and tested each one carefully. The bay paint lurched violently when she slid the first needle home into the mustang's neck. She depressed the draw and pulled it out before the needle could snap in the flesh. Sam pressed down on the mustang's face and kept talking soothingly to the bay paint.

Sam felt a flair of anger at Celia as the mustang reacted each time that a needle slid into the animal's neck. Six different needles of different vaccines and a mild pain killer.

"Alright baby, yer doin' good." Celia told the mustang, shifting around Sam and unscrewing a large plastic jar she'd pulled from the saddle pack. She dug her bare hand into thick, oily, yellow colored paste.

"Whats that?" Sam asked.

"It's a burn slave." Celia muttered and started layering on the save into the old scars on the mustang's side and down her jerking leg.

"Is she hurt on the other side?"

Celia shook her head and screwed the lid back onto the jar and wiped her hands on a scrap of cloth. She set the empty needles and slave into pack and tossed it aside. She rose and left Sam alone. She trotted over to the large round pen and rushed to the round pen, she stopped to say something to Dean then rushed into the open pen to the iron water trough. It was full to the brim with fresh water and then rushed back out of the pen and to the barn, a few minuets later she came back out lugging a square bale of hay. She tossed it into the round pen, slicing the wires easily and pulling them free. Sam watched her hand the wires to Dean and then started back towards him and the mustang, she was pulling off her thick leather gloves and tucking them into her back pocket.

"Alright, Sam." She clipped the shank hook lead onto the rope halter and lifted the end coil of the lariat into her hands. "On three stand up and get out of the way. Alright?"

Sam nodded.

"One, two, three."

Sam pushed himself up and stepped lightly away from the bay paint. Celia tugged on the lead and lariat. The bay paint gave a sharp noise and rolled up and lunged to her hooves. The animal coiled to rear and buck but Celia swiftly choked up on the lead, her hand fisting just below the bay paint's chin and yanked forward. The startled mustang lurched to follow, Celia broke into a jog and the jerking mustang rushed to keep up, trying to pull back on the halter. Sam followed at a distance to keep from spooking the mustang.

Celia tugged animal into the round pen and Dean instantly pushed the gate shut and looped the chain into the catch to lock. Before the horse could panic Celia loosened the lariat and slipped it off the bay paint's neck and unsnapped the shank lead from the halter. The fearful mare jerked away and bolted to the other side of the round pen, her ears pinned back and snorting, still sweating and frothing at the jaws. Celia backed out of the pen slowly so the mustang could see everything she did, Celia ducked between the bars of the round pen instead of opening the gate; she was sweating and panting, still favoring her rope burned arm she turned to the two shaking young men, taking the cut wire from Dean's hands.

"Ya boys meet me inside, alright?" she asked already walking away to scoop up the pack and coiling the lariat up tightly. Sam and Dean exchanged looks and glancing at the bay paint started for the house. Dean shaking painfully and straining with each step.

**…**

They sat waiting quietly at the table. Valentine was pressed close to Dean's leg and whining, Buckshot was curled up under the table with Alamo. Sam glanced at the clock. It was now over an hour in time pass. They stiffened when the screen door opened and Celia marched in. She practically threw her walkie-talkie on the table and pulled a brown pill bottle out of her pocket and set it in front of Sam.

"That's yers." She growled and went to the mud room; she came back with a large first aid kit and went to the sink, turning on the hot water in the sink. She yanked off her flannel and dropped it to the floor, leaving her in the sweat soaked white tee. She lifted her rope burned arm and snarled under her throat, she soaked the cloth in hot water and started to gently dab at the garish stripes of rope bitten flesh. Celia hissed and snarled as she carefully cleaned out the burn.

"Red?" Dean asked quietly, carefully. She glanced around at him then went back to her work, ignoring them all over again. Dean hesitated then rose to his feet and crossed over and leaned over her shoulder to watch. He flinched at the flesh of her arm, raw and torn and starting to bleed in some places. The burn started at the crook of her elbow, spiraled around her forearm up to her wrist and across her palm. It was obvious that the rope burn was painful.

"God, that must hurt like a bitch." Dean muttered. Celia cast a look at him and snorted, staying silent. She whipped lightly at the deepest part of the burn across her wrist. Dean swallowed, slightly unnerved by her silence. He took a deep breath and pressed into her space.

"Here, I'll do it." Dean pulled the soaked cloth from her hand. He felt like her needed to do something to repay her for helping him. Celia pulled back from him, and bit back a hiss. But Dean swiftly grabbed her arm and tugged her forward.

"Easy!" Celia spat as his large and rough hand rubbed across the burns.

"Sorry." Dean muttered, soaked the cloth again and started quick and light passes of the fabric over the burns. Sam sat back and let Dean handle it, the elder brother had more practice with basic medicine and Sam wanted Dean to seriously start participating. Dean had been starting to act normally and Sam was glad for it and in no way was going to discourage it.

Celia sighed, but was thinking the same thing, that Dean needed something to do and probably a way to express that he was grateful for her help without actually saying 'thank you'. So she swallowed her own Dean-like pride and leaned against the counter and let Dean clean her arm up.

"That was insane." Sam said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. He only got glances from Dean and Celia but all the three dogs looked up and trained their attention on him. The silence made Sam nervous and he cleared his throat.

"I mean, what was that all about?"

"That was a homewrecker." Celia muttered, she flinched and hissed when Dean pressed into the burn a little harder than normal.

"Whats-" Celia cut him off, anticipating his question.

"It's a term that we use here in the desert for a rouge mare. They come in like lightenin' and can tear apart a herd social order. Rouge stud, no big deal but a mare…" Celia shook her head. "That's why they're homewreckers, they do just that."

Dean smiled wryly and couldn't help the sly look in his eyes at the nickname for rouge mares.

"It's not normal." Celia muttered. Dean glanced up at her but said nothing, but curiosity bit at Sam.

"What do you mean?"  
"It's not in a mare's nature to act that way. They don't rebel like that unless there's some kind of trauma."

"What do you think drove her to it then?" Sam pressed. Dean was listening intently and changed from the long strokes of the cloth into small circles, he was turning and lifting her arm gently to clean the entire rope burn. Celia cast a glance at Sam and jerked hissing when Dean's nails accidentally scraped across the burn.

"Sorry."

Celia snorted, "Some kind of mania. Can be disease or a broken mind." She bristled slightly at the skeptical look on Sam's face, "It's possible, animals are intelligent as ya or me, Sam. They don't get the right stimulation or too much it'll make 'em crazy. Like animals in a zoo. Why the hell do ya think they throw all those stupid balls and shit in seal tanks?"

Sam reeled a little at her defensive reaction for the mental capacity of an animal.

"But ya saw those burn scars." Sam nodded, Celia sighed quietly, "That mare, she's another victim of the fires. Terror and loss…it's the greatest leveler of man and animal. It can alter a body right down to the soul, and that sort of insanity is universal. It's a Breaker."

"'Breaker'?" Dean asked quietly, setting the cloth aside to inspect the wound and make sure that it was thoroughly cleaned. She flipped open the first aid kit and handed him a small brown bottle.

"Iodine?" Dean asked with some mild shock.

"Ya gonna do it or am I?" She asked, already starting to pull her arm out of his grip. Dean glared at her and tightened his grip on her arm. He instantly lightened it at her flinch.

"What's a Breaker?" Sam prodded while Celia coiled herself tightly and braced for the sting of the iodine.

"A 'Breaker' is a destroyer, Sam. They don't try to work things out or alter present behavior for the better; it just comes in and obliterates everythin'. Like a horse-breaker. SHIT!"

Deana and Sam flinched at her bark of pain; the elder Winchester freezing mid-swipe of the iodine soaked cloth up her arm. All three dogs whine quietly.

"Red-"

"Finish it Dean, in a hurry." Celia spat and grit her teeth, resisting every urge to rip her arm away from his grip. Dean nodded and steeling himself quickly pressed the stained cloth into the rope burns. Celia's face pinched in pain, ground her teeth together and hissed; the same dangerous noise that she had made at the bay paint, a bobcat or puma hiss. Dean and Sam refrained from speaking while she suffered.

Dean felt his throat go dry and he bit back his natural reaction to protect. He hated inflicting pain on anyone or anything. Sure he smirked and quirked when he burned dry bones or brought down a skin-walker or some other creature, biting out sharp remarks or teasing, laughing up the kill but he hated it. He hated hurting anything, even if it was dead or a demon. He could only think that it had lived, been human, uncorrupted at one time. He only found it bearable because more people lived by the death of another, cutting losses. But no matter how paranoid he was about Celia, fed by the odd short handed files in the computer and what he experienced in her presence. He looked passed the fact that she was red eyed and could make out the faint lines of what looked like tattoos on her shoulders through the sweat dampened tee shirt. As far as he knew she was human and felt pain and he was inflicting it on her. It made him sick. He bit back a dry heave and forced her stomach to stay still.

Celia started to pull away but Dean tightened his grip, dumping the iodine stained cloth and grabbed a fresh one off the counter and wetted it with hot water.

"Little trick, to stop the stinging." Dean reasoned. He'd learned the trick from Caleb when he was ten.

Celia cocked her head slightly and hissed sharply when the heat touched her already pained and starting to inflame arm. She relaxed with a heavy sigh and smiled slightly. The sting and bite of iodine dimmed considerably.

"I'm gonna have to remember that." She sighed and smiled gently at him. Dean didn't resist the urge to throw her charming smirk. He couldn't help his player nature and lightly ran his calloused fingers over the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist. The touch was an attempt at comfort, borderline seduction and apology for hurting her. The move backfired when Celia flinched in pain and pulled her arm away from his grip.

"Thanks Dean." Celia said and puffed cool air onto the scrapes in her skin. Dean started to reach for a cloth wrap bandage. "No Dean, it's only a few layers of skin, I'll just air it." She waved him off and inspected the rope burns.

"I thought that's what it's called, 'breaking'?" Sam asked. "When you're training a horse. Don't you break horses? Like Strawbury."

Celia sniffed and looked down on Sam with hardened pride bristling at the accusation. "I don't break, Sam Wilson." She almost tripped on his name. "I gentle a horse, work _with _'em. I'll _never_ be so cruel and hateful as to _break_ an animal."

The venom in the words were overdone and pressured by Celia's irritation, both physical in the inflammation of her arm, work strain in her muscles and the fact that she had a two foot dent in her Silverado as well as mental, the strain of keeping herself in check with the boys and with the ranch. The flush of embarrassment on Sam's face and the hardened glare in Dean's eyes told her she was treading on dangerous grounds.

"I'm sorry." Sam said quietly, "I didn't mean to offend."

"Well ya did." Celia bit out. The shock on Sam's face made him look like a child and it bit into Celia. She was sure just by the look in his eyes that Sam was reevaluating her from what he experienced so far. Celia took a deep breath and figuratively backed up a step. The last thing she wanted was Sam; and Dean for that stand, changing their minds about her because she was in a bad mood. As far as they knew she was bad tempered all the time, not just having a rough day. She wished they shake whatever whammy had them and just treat her like they used to. Especially Dean. She saw a flicker of it as he'd clean up her arm but it fled again.

She took a deep breath and settled herself as best she could; she reproached Sam with a calmer voice and lighter words.

"Sorry Sam. It's been a long run, it don't help me none that I've got a homewrecker in my round pen. I'm sorry for bitin' yer head off just now."

Sam's lips twitched in a slight smile that died in a hurry, but the uncertainty and turmoil in his eyes had settled. Dean visibly relaxed a little, too. Sam played it off, like it didn't matter and shrugged a shoulder.

"What are you going to do about her?" Sam asked, passing the terse subject. Celia sighed and shook her head, she tugged her Stetson hat down to keep from pulling it off and yanking a handful of hair out and exposing her horns to the boys at the same time.

"Well, I hate to say it but she'll probably end up put down, euthanasia or a bullet."

Sam started, "No!"

Dean looked at the horror on his baby brother's face and instantly agreed for Sam's sake. Celia sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes.

"Sam-"

"You can't shoot her!" Sam was on his feet in a second, towering intimidating over Celia. She bristled slightly and tensed up; Sam's action screamed fight.

"Look Sam sometimes thats the only way things can go." Celia kept her voice even and steady.

"Can't you do something?" Dean asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

"That mare is over the brink, she's messed up. One of the worst cases I've ever seen."

"_One_ of the worst cases." Sam barked, "There's been others."

"And they end up dog food." Celia said harshly, shocking the taller but younger man. "Sam, she cain't go back out on the range. She'll get herself killed and there's slim to none chance that she'll gentle enough for a saddle."

"Slim to none, so there is a chance." Sam accused. "There's something you can do."

Celia sighed "Sam-"

Sam flung himself into the bargaining stage. "I'll help you. With everything, you can teach me and Homewrecker at the same time. I'm a fast learner and I'm sure she is too."

Celia looked at Sam searching his face for a reason why he would offer that, it struck her like a bolt of lightening. "Sam. When I got on ya at the gate, when I called ya useless. I didn't mean it; ya know it's not true."

Sam looked shocked, "It's not about that." Sam said defensively. The remark had bitten, cut him and sent a spike of pain and insecurity through him, even though he had been called worse in his life being called useless by Celia had hurt.

"Sam." Dean tried but Sam glared at him.

"You can't shoot her." Sam said resolutely.

"Sam yer not gonna be here. I'm waitin' on Tim Milano to call me back 'bout the fuel line. He figures he's got one and it'll be in to Elko in 'bout four or five days."

"Four or five days is perfect! Plenty of time!" Sam barked, though he didn't believe it himself. "_I_ could probably be riding her around by then."

"Sam! What yer proposin' is an impossibility! Ya cain't gentle any horse in four days! Hell it'd be a miracle if she let ya touch her in that time! It cain't be done!" Celia barked defensively. "Not with her, she's fried, shot, done. If I even tried it's an everyday job. God it could take years and even then she'll never…she just won't…" Celia faltered at Sam's chocolate eyes, pleading and praying for her to help, do what he asked. "Sam. No…I…she…she's better off with a bullet in her head! She's sufferin', whatever the hell did this to her is still tormentin' her! Hasn't someone ever told ya that ya cain't save 'em all?! She's out of reach!"

Sam shook his head, refusing to accept that, "No ones completely out of reach. Not even when there dead." Sam retorted and received a sharp glare from Dean clearly to _SHUT UP_. But Sam pressed on.

"I know you can help her, you made the effort to get her here just to give up on her? That doesn't seem like you."

"Ya think ya know me then?" Celia asked sharply.

"From all the work you've done to save these animals just giving up, doesn't make sense. Even helping out me and my brother, you go way out of your way to help hopeless cases." Sam shrugged and Dean had to agree.

"I consider ya and yer brother a far shade better than that mare." Celia growled but having a problem with believing it herself. She hadn't a clue how screwed up Dean and Sam were.

"Whatever, look it'll take time and I'll do everything to help. You can at least start work working with her, and I'll come back to help."

"Sam." Dean said, warning him not to make promises he wouldn't keep. Celia seemed to be thinking the same thing. She scoffed and Sam tensed up.

"Fine. I'll give you a hundred dollars for her." He started to dig into his back pocket where he knew for a fact there was no hundred dollars.

"What?" Celia and Dean chorused.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars for her. You can keep her here for me and train her and everything." Sam said resolutely.

"Sam! We-" Dan started.

"Save yer money, I'll do it." Celia said, both young men looked at her in mild shock.

"What?' Sam asked, stiffening.

Celia breathed deeply and set her hands on her hips. She searched Sam's face; she saw compassion and gratefulness behind his initial shock. She saw that Sam really wanted to save this lost cause, it was against her better judgment to let the animal suffer for the sake that Sam wanted to make pet project of her. But if that was all it was she would have told him flat out no; she saw something in Sam's eyes while he pinned and soothed the mustang. She the cliché and inexcusable feeling that Sam needed to help this mare.

He was trying to make up for past sins through the mustang and at Celia's expense.

And for all the cliché that it was maybe that mare needed Sam, too.

_What the hell,_ Celia finally reasoned and shook her head, "I said I'd do it, at least try and start her. I'm no miracle worker but I'll do what I can." Celia assured Sam. The younger man broke into a heart melting smile and he looked ready to hug her.

"What ever you need me to do I'll do it." Sam swore.

"Ya'll wish ya never made that promise when I'm done with ya." Celia muttered, cursing Sam inwardly for being such a humanitarian and herself for rolling over to him. Loud rapping of knuckles against a door frame drifted through the house from the front door.

"Mind gettin' that?" Celia asked Sam, the younger Winchester turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen towards the door. Dean watched as Celia reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a bottle of aspirin, she started to struggle with it before Dean smoothly took it out of her hands and opened it for her.

"Thanks."

"You didn't need to yell at him for calling you a horse-breaker." Dean muttered, choosing to attack that subject before the one concerning his brother and the mare.

Celia rounded on him and bristled, "Dean why don't ya go out there and look that mare in the eye, see how destroyed she is then come back and talk to me 'bout not bein' offended." She snapped and Dean went quiet.

**…**

Sam trotted to the front door with a spark of triumph and happiness in his heart. He couldn't help it, He'd convinced Celia to try and help the mustang and he had every intention of holding his word. He'd saved another life and that always put a bounce in his step for a while. The oak door was still open but the screen closed, someone stood on the other side of the door. Sam pushed it open with a genuine smile and froze; his heart seizing and literally stopped.

It was like he was looking at a photograph from his days at Stanford. Petite, pretty, blonde and eyes so blue they put sapphires to shame.

"Jessica?" Sam gasped like a fish pulled from water.

The blonde woman's eyes went wide for a second then hardened and narrowed. Before Sam could even get a breath it she grabbed him by the collar in small but strong hands, swung his lankier frame around and slammed him down into the planks of the porch. Sam gasped in pain as his skin struck the rough wood and the girl's hundred plus pound weight slammed harshly into his stomach, a knee planted in his abdomen. His head was forced back with the serrated blade of a deer gutting knife pressed down hard into his jaw line and threatening to cut his throat.

"NOBODY calls me 'Jesscia'!" The girl snarled down on him, her blonde locks falling in waves around her face.

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**That was a long chapter, I NEED reviews y'all! Donate to the good cause, REVEIW!**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	11. What Are You About?

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-**

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**Chapter Eleven: What Are You About?**

**" 'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'**

**'I don't see, ' said the Catipillar. "**

**-Lewis Carroll - _Alice in Wonderland_**

**…**

Sam tried to suck in his stomach and throat, the unforgiving blade and knee only followed him. He didn't dare try and push her away, part of it was self-preservation. The other factor was his unshakeable belief that this was in fact Jessica.

_His_ Jessica.

And every sliver of pain he'd felt at her loss and memory threatened to consume and destroy him if he pushed the blonde woman away. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe and excruciating pain was imploding on his skin and in his ribs; making black dots dance on the edges of his vision.

_Why can't I call her Jessica_, was the only thought that crossed his mind.

**…**

"What was that?" Celia asked, perked like a terrier that smelled a rat.

"What are you talking about?" Dean muttered, his shaking having returned without something to keep his hands busy. He was leaning on the counter for support.

"Ya hear somthin'?" She asked, looking at Dean with sharp eyes. He only shook his head. Celia huffed slightly, on the edge of a grunt.

"I did." She started for the front door and Dean wobbly followed on her heels.

**…**

The blonde bared her teeth like a wolf down on Sam and searched his face for any answer to who he was. Her eyes flashed to the beaver totem at his throat. She hissed, grinding her teeth.

"Beaver." She snapped and grabbed the totem in her free and held it dangerously in front of Sam's face, leaning her heavy weight on his chest and collar bone, threatening to shatter the fragile bones below his skin. The knife edge scraped up and across the thin layer of flesh between the out side world and the life blood jugular vein in his throat.

"Where the hell ya get this, boy?!" She spat in his face.

Sam swallowed and flinched as the blade's serrated teeth bit briefly in to his skin. The blonde snarled at his silence and swiftly wrapped her hand around the leather thong and made to tear it from his throat.

The woman yelped and pitched over, crying out like a stepped on dog.

Celia yanked hard on the blonde's ear and a clump of wheat gold hair.

"Jezebel Jessica Rosemary Cree get the hell offa that boy!" Celia snarled.

"OW! Cousin Red! Leggo! My ear!" Jezebel Jessica Rosemary Cree yelped like a pained animal, her knee left Sam's gut; the blade Sam's throat and her hand left the beaver totem still tied around his throat. She scrambled as she was dragged across the porch planks. Sam pushed himself up; coughing thickly his hand flew to the beaver totem, making sure it was secure. But his biggest instinct was to get Celia away from the Jessica doppelganger.

"Sam!" Dean said sharply for the fifth time, the younger brother jumped as if he had been struck and looked around at Dean. "Sam are you alright?"

Sam only nodded and watched Celia haul Jezebel up to her feet,

"Put that knife away girl!"

"Alright, just leggo my ear! Please!" The woman whimpered and tried to keep her ear close to Celia's hand.

"Put it away first." Celia snarled.

With and exaggerated grunt and mutter Jezebel slipped the hunting knife back into the sheath on her hip.

"Good girl, alright Jesse, apologize." Celia let go of her ear and the blonde jumped back a step, rubbing the side of her head and snarling under her voice.

"Why! He's tresspassin'!"

"Jezebel! Ya honestly think that somebody walkin' around on my property, answerin' my door ain't here with my permission?" Celia barked. Jezebel flinched and glanced at Sam and Dean.

"No."

"No." Celia repeated.

Jezebel sighed loudly and licked the roof of her mouth. She was obviously having a hard time swallowing her pride. She glared at Celia then with a huff stomped back over to stand above Sam.

"Sorry." She growled quickly and stood waiting. Sam looked her up and down.

"It's okay." He muttered stiffly, "You were only doing what you thought was right."

"See! Even he agrees!" Jezebel barked rounding on Celia. The older woman sighed and rubbed a hand across her face.

"Sam, Dean this is my youngest cousin, Jezebel. Jesse this is Sam and Dean Wilson, the ones all those rumors are about." Celia sighed tiredly.

"Really?" Jezebel asked looking down at the boys, "From what they're sayin' ya'd expect some kind of demi-god or somethin'."

Celia growled and changed the subject in a hurry. "What are ya doin' here?"

"I can to find out what happened with the homwrecker." Jezebel sighed.

"She's in one of the round pens waitin' judgment, there's talk of tryin' to gentle her." Celia told the younger woman who was casting glances at Sam every now and then. The younger brother, now on his feet was staring at her unwaveringly.

"Are ya insane, Red? That pony's lost her mind." Jezebel snorted.

Celia only shrugged and narrowed her eyes as Jezebel muttered under her breath.

"Jesse what the hell has gotten a bee in yer bonnet, huh? Yer outta character jumpin' on people and being snarky." Celia snapped sharply.

Jezebel looked a little stricken and sort of collapsed in on herself a little.

Celia stiffened, "This is about yer daddy, isn't it?"

Jezebel swallowed thickly and licked her lips, "They got the chopper to take him to the big hospital in Elko. He took a bad turn." Jezebel whispered sadly. Sam had the irresistible urge to wrap his arms around her and hold this Jessica look alike.

Celia looked a little paler at this new information. "Jess honey, yer daddy's a strong man. Kurt'll be fine, he just needs a little help and bein' the kind of man that he is he just don't like takin' that help. He's gotta be just pissed 'bout it." Celia joked gently trying to ease the tension in Jezebel's shoulders.

Jezebel nodded and rubbed the heel of her palm over her eyes. She sniffed then turned defensive.

"What are ya starin' at me for!" She snapped at Sam, making the much taller man jump.

Sam swallowed dryly and licked his lips, "Sorry, you just remind me of someone."

"I always remind somebody of someone, who is she?" Jezebel sniffed.

"She died, her name was Jessica." Sam said with some pain in his voice. Jezebel softened and Celia and Dean both tensed up at the mention of the very painful subject.

"Sorry 'bout yer friend." Jezebel sighed, Sam nodded quietly. "Momma went to go be with Daddy. I supposed to be goin' in soon, too."

Celia sighed, the worry over her uncle Kurt's youngest was stronger than her initial worry about her uncle Kurt.

"Sure, honey. Come on in and have somethin' strong to drink." Celia said, patting the younger woman's shoulder and steering her towards the door.

"Thanks Cousin Red." Jezebel let herself be pushed into the house and out of sight.

Dean hesitated, rubbing his hand across her face mouth and chin.  
"Sam-"

"She looks just like Jessica."

"I know."

"I mean scary like her! It's like a photograph!"

"Sam, calm down. I know." Dean soothed and paced a short stiff circle before he had to stop and settle his stomach and spinning head.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Sam snarled, he was practically tearing his hair out. "This place is insane! WHO THE HELL PUT YOU UP TO THIS!" Sam screamed to the heavens and Dean looked ready to punch him in the face. Somewhere in the basin of the blue rock mountains a wolf lifted her head and cocked her ears, listening to the notes ringing on the wind.

"Sam! Shut up!" He barked, casting a terrified look towards the screen door.

**…**

"What was that?" Jezebel asked with a cocked head looking at Celia; sipping the glass of whisky the red eyed woman had poured for her.

"Sam's havin' an epiphany, I figure." Celia said casually.

"Hmm?" Jezebel asked with raised eyebrows. "'Bout what?"

Celia cocked and eyebrow and sipped at her own whisky.

"Red?" Jezebel asked at the glazed look in Red's eye.

"That the desert don't forget what ya try too…" Celia sighed and looked out of the window at the scrub brush and red clay earth of Nevada.

**…**

"Sam you have to calm down now, alright?" Dean coached encouragingly. Sam panted and nodding almost spasmodically scrubbed at his face with his hands. The younger brother was pacing nervous circles around his older brother; wringing his hands and muttering under his breathe.

"Sam…Sam…SAM!" Dean snapped in a harsh whisper. Sam jerked and looked at him as he continued to circle like a vulture.

"Sam, you're making me sick, please…you've gotta stop." Dean bit back a groan and rubbed a hand carefully over the still raised welts of Valentine's claws and his clenching abdomen muscles. He was starting to pale and feel dizziness strike him again. Sam hesitated and swallowed dryly, the idea that he was inadvertently hurting his brother stopped him dead.

"Sorry Dean." Sam instantly turned mother hen and gripped Dean at the elbow to try and ease him down onto the porch swing. Dean yanked out of his grip and wobbled dangerously but shook his head making it clear that he wouldn't survive sitting down and having to move again.

"I'm alright." Dean rasped.

"I'm freaking the fuck out, Dean!" Sam growled hoarsely. "What ever the fuck is going on here I want it to stop! This is fucking Twilight Zone!"

Dean swallowed, he could tell Sam was on the verge of a break down when he started referring to the Twilight Zone and saying 'fuck' a lot. He needed to take drastic measures.

"Sam she's not Jessica." He said as calmly and clearly. Sam jerked and grunted, he started pacing again.

"Sam. She's not Jessica."

"I know!" Sam snapped.

"I don't think you do. She's not Jessica." Dean repeated, cold, almost cruel.

"Dean-"  
"Sam. She's. Not. Jessica."

Sam stopped pacing and ground the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and made no noise, panting and swallowing thickly the young brother's chest gave a sickening, shallow heave and a gut wrenching sob. Single, muffed and gone in a bare second. Dean stood back, he had learned early to let Sam take care of himself.

Sam clenched his hands into fists under his chin, tapping his knuckles against his throat and heaving tiredly stared out across rolling scrub grasses and desert.

"I know." He rasped, looking two or three shades paler than normal. "I know."

Dean reached out a shaking hand and laid it comfortingly on Sam's shoulder and squeezed gently. Dean started to steer Sam in the pressure on his shoulder increased as Dean needed the extra support to get inside and passed the door. Sam smiled weakly at Dean and threw his shoulders back as they passed back into the house with their hackles raised and trying to be ready for anything. They honestly didn't expect the red-eyed Celia and the Jessica look-alike sitting silently at the battered wooden table with a couple of beers and whiskey shot between them.

"How old are you?" Sam said sharply. He'd been something of a hall monitor at Stanford his freshman year, barking at underage friends drinking and bartenders who didn't give a rat's ass so long as they paid cash. Jessica had certainly loosened him up in his Sophomore year. The sharp question had even startled Sam.

Celia and Jezebel looked at Sam like he'd asked their weights.

"How old are ya?" Jezebel snarked back and Celia rolled her eyes.

"Old enough Sam." Celia sighed and settled back in her chair, throwing back a shot of whisky and her face cringing as the alcohol bit at her. Dean smiled and reached for an unopened bottle of beer only to have it snatched sharply from under his grip.

"He-"

"Dean, ya are still sufferin' heat stroke, prove yerself beyond being a damn fool and refrain from drinkin' a diuretic when ya can barely keep water down." Celia scolded with a sniff.

"I what?" Dean muttered, still eyeing the beer.

"Alcohol is a diuretic, it dehydrates yer systems." Jezebel sighed and spun her beer bottle around on the wooden table top and sighing quietly. She rose and tossed her bottle into the trash can. "Thanks for the drink, Red. I gotta get things in order then I'm headin' in to Elko."

"Alright, girl." Celia rose and followed Jezebel out of the kitchen, through the house and hall and out on the porch. Sam jogged dutifully after but Dean settled himself to grab the half finished beer Red herself had been nursing and drained it in a single draw.

Celia patted Jezebel's shoulder and waved as the young blonde trudged down the steps and across the yard. Sam took a deep breath then rushed after her.

"Jezebel!" Sam almost choked on her name, his tongue wanted to say Jessica. Celia stood back and pretended that her hearing wasn't an easy match for a rat terrier's. The blonde stopped and turned back to watch Sam trot over to her.

"It's Jesse." Jezebel corrected, "I apologized for jumpin' ya Sam, what ya want an apology for lookin' like her dead girlfriend." The callous sarcasm embittered Sam down to his core and he bit back a vicious response.

"I know. I wanted to say I hope your dad feels better. My dad got sick once too."

Celia raised an eyebrow and watched carefully. Her sharp ears catching the smallest sounds, she could hear them breathing.

Jezebel softened and swallowed thickly, "Thanks."

"I'm Sam." Sam held out his hand and Jezebel took it and shook his hand once before letting go.

"I know, I'm Jesse."

Sam managed a small smile in return. "I know, nice meeting you."

"See ya 'round Sam." Jezebel said with a small wave and she climbed the pipe gate fence, dropped nimbly down on the other side and started away.

"Oh Sam," She twisted and called over her shoulder, "When ya start schoolin' that homewrecker it takes a smooth hand and a hard bit."

"Um..alright…how did-"

"Cousin Red told me." Jezebel sniffed and waved a final time. Sam watched her back for a while before turning and trotting up the steps and Red.

"What was that 'bout now?" Celia asked. Sam shrugged, keeping it to himself. She watched his back disappear into the house and leaned heavily on the porch railing. She sighed and said a prayer under her breath.

She prayed for her Uncle Kurt stop his trek down the Red Road.

She prayed for Cousin Jesse to be strong enough to hold herself together and probably her mother, too.

She prayed for the Coyote to pass Dean by.

She prayed for the wolves to forget where Sam was and stop singing to him.

And she prayed for her own sanity.

With a gut wrenching sigh she turned and followed Sam's path into the house and towards the kitchen.

"DEAN WILSON WHAT DID I SAY 'BOUT YA DRINKIN' DIURECTICS WHILE YER IN A STATE!?!"

Dean flinched as if he'd been struck and quickly dropped the second beer he'd helped himself to. Sam stared at the small woman in shock and tried to hold back from sniggering at his brother's misfortune.

**…**

Celia sighed, washing dishes by hand and scrubbing the remains to flow down the drain and out of sight.

Dean hadn't been able to keep the rice down…again…halfway through the bowl he'd rushed to the bathroom and emptied his stomach, while Sam and Celia flinched at the sounds of retching.

"He was doing really well until solid food." Sam assured her and she threw him a skeptical look but didn't truly doubt that Dean had. Heat stroke cases this severe usually did well with a liquid diet before getting any where near the task of solids. And Dean had always been quick to get back on his feet.

A little too quick sometimes.

Celia had seen it plenty in cases of the stroke before, but she'd never handled a withdrawal case before and the symptoms overlapping were threatening a terrifying possibly that Dean could emaciate into a shadow of a man. It worried her.

The only reason that she even allowed him try to keep solids down was the way he looked out through his lashes at her. The green eyes had always been a weakness of hers, she decided after Dean's latest round of vomiting that she was going to put her foot down. Green eyes and everything. She wasn't going to let him make himself worse.

Celia sighed and turned the bowls over onto a towel to dry. She and Sam had shared Dean's meal of rice, spiced with a little chili and cheese for flavor to keep Dean from suffering alone. It hadn't worked well.

Dean still suffered.

Celia glanced over her shoulder at Sam. The taller brother was absorbed almost totally in his laptop, taking the time out to scratch and flinch at his sunburned skin, or glancing up and out of the screen door into the yard. His direct eye line locked on the bay painted mare in the round pen as she paced nervously and tossed her head to try and get out of the rope halter. These brief hesitations quickly melted into the laptop again. As curious as she was about what the younger Winchester was up to Celia couldn't discreetly look over his shoulder, he was sitting with his back to the wall. And if she asked him about it she knew for a fact she would get a lie. Or if he was feeling guilty maybe a half truth.

Celia lifted the steaming and whistling kettle off of the stove and poured it over a rough tea bag in one of the ceramic mugs from the cupboard. She sniffed at the steaming cup once before carrying it out of the kitchen and into the first floor guest bedroom.

Dean was sprawled across the bed and looked like he was dozing, his pale color was like milk stained red across his cheek bones and down his forearms in mild sunburns. She could see the blue of his veins just below the surface, like his skin was rice paper. Valentine was curled up at the end of the bed, nursing his strained shoulder muscle.

Dean had been concerned over the limp in the white dog's step and in his own way fussed quietly over the shoulder until Celia declared it a kicked muscle strain. She related to Dean how the shepherd had obtained a kick from the homewrecker mare and assured him that a littler rest and light massage of the muscle from time to time and Valentine would be the holy terror he always was in a day or two.

Dean seemed to looking through slit eye out of the window and into the yard, the sunlight spilling over his frame. But the sun was betraying him, he looked thinner, smaller than he had yesterday.

"Dean?"

He turned his head slowly and stiffened up, pushing himself up to sit as she approached carefully.

"Hows yer stomach?"

Dean grunted quietly, he seemed to be trying to avoid speaking to her, which was in itself upsetting but understandable.

"Ya gonna ask me for solid food again?" She tried to tease him lightly. Dean snorted quietly through his nose and rolled his head back slightly before looking back at her.

"I think I've learned my lesson." Dean said and patted his stomach, he flinched and forced a smile to his face. Celia rolled her eyes at the obvious pain in the expression.

"This should help settle ya." She offered the tea to him, Dean took the mug in twitching hands and sniffed. He flinched and jerked his head back and away from the steaming liquid.

"Tea?"

"Yessir." Celia sniffed, "I don't trust ya with coffee yet." She invited herself to sit on the edge of the bed and watch him suffer through taking a sip of the strong smelling liquid. She swallowed and twitched nervously.

"Dean, ya mind if I ask ya somethin'?" She sighed and Dean raised his eyebrows, then nodded for her to continue. "Alright," She turned and whistled sharply, "Sam! Ya come here please!" She called down the hall, keeping her voice casual to avoid panicking the younger brother.

"Sam, too?" Dean asked with another sip of the tea.

"Sam, too." Celia assured and looked up as the younger brother slipped into the room and when Celia motioned towards the plush brown chair in the corner of the room. The two brothers looked at her expectantly and Celia could see more than curiosity putting tension in their shoulders.

Celia took a deep breath and looked between the two attentive boys and pulled the brim of her brown Stetson down a littler lower.

She debated that maybe this chance would be better spent discussing more pressing matters.

"Listen boys, ya know its Labor Day weekend, right?" She asked and looked between them.

"We do now." Sam said, his eyebrows perked up and forward, "So?"

"Well, thing is there's a faire." Celia hesitated.

"A faire?" Dean cocked and eyebrow at her.

"More like a show and rodeo and shit like that. Over in Elko County Fair Grounds, bout a hundred and twenty five miles sou-east of here. It's a good little run and I intended to go but I cain't leave the two of ya in a state…" Celia trailed off looking a little embarrassed and rubbing a hand over her face.

Dean and Sam looked between each other, trying to keep from smiling.

"You want us to come?" Sam asked.

"If yer up for it I suggest ya take the offer of a run at a good time on the house if the two of ya can take the abuse. Ya've got two days to steady up. If not I'll skip it." Celia breathed.

"On the house?" Dean asked.

"On me. I know enough of the people runnin' the damn thing that won't have to pay a dime for it. What do ya think? If yer go for it tomorrow night ya want to take a ride?" Celia asked.

"Tomorrow night, I thought you said we had two days." Sam asked, and cocked his head in confusion when Celia nodded.

"If I want to put any of mine in the ring I'm gonna have to be there before sun rise on Monday. And if we go I want to at least have a steer up at auction or a colt in for barrels or somethin'. Ya never go to a faire and come back empty handed. It's a disgrace." Celia said with a puff of pride.

Sam glanced at Dean. The elder brother took a long draw from the tea and shrugged at Sam.

"I'm sure by then I'll be sick of this room and house," Dean reasoned.

"Red, can I talk to my brother for a second?" Sam asked.

"Sure, just let me know. I'm gonna go do a few chores so ya can find me in the yard or barn." Celia rose and walked out of the room leaving the two brothers to look at each other. There was silence so heavy that it felt like a blanket.

"What Sam?" Dean finally rasped out, trying to look anywhere but at his brother. Sam sighed, slumped down into the chair and rubbed his face viciously.

"I don't know…it feels…I don't know…" Sam stumbled trying to figure out what his argument actually was. "We're taking too much from her…even if she can be dangerous we're taking too much. A little charity here and there, sure that's great but…"

"I'm not the one that bitched and moaned until she agreed to take on a horse that's got a mental dysfunction because I have puppy-dog eyes for hopeless cases." Dean snipped and choked a little on the tea, he winced and sighed. Sam decided that having the privilege of watching his brother force down _tea_ would be plenty of return for the insults. So Sam let it go, forcing the blossom of anger bubbling under his ribs.

"Dean. That's my point, we're pushing our luck…like we're taking advantage of her." Sam said finally and braced for the storm. Dean looked horrified for a second then hardened into as much of a steel coil as it was possible for him with pain bursting across his chest and skull.

"We are NOT taking advantage of her." Dean snapped, teeth bared. "We'll pay her back. Some how."

"Alright…alright…" Sam muttered. Dean lifted his head in pride and turned to look out of the window. But something was nagging at him, "But…"

Dean tensed and looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye.

"But what Sam?"

"What if you're right?" Sam looked absolutely sickened to think what he was about to say, "Maybe she does have red eyes for a reason and we have to kill her…God she's got a family…" The last bit whispered under his breath so even Dean couldn't hear. "Is it possible to pay back a monster for kindness?" Sam spat, suddenly disgusted with his own theory.

Dean looked shocked, startled and disgusted by the suggestion. He'd already started to feel a pull, a connection to Celia. Especially when he watched her humor or take care of Sam. Sam was all he had left and when someone treated that with respect, went out of their way to assure the safety and sanity of that Dean extended a small part of himself to that individual as a thanks and reward. Through all the wariness and nervousness and caution he'd done it again.

The gentle, comforting touch of his hands as he tried to help her, heal her rope burned arm had been that extension of himself.

A part of Dean retched, reacting so terribly at the thought of having to kill Celia he physically gagged, dry heaving once then settling again under the startled chocolate eyes staring out at him from Sam's face.

"Dean?" Sam said sharply.

"I'm fine." Dean coughed, trying to settle himself and bit the inside of his cheek. He shook off the feeling, a bigger part of him, the Hunter glared and snorted at the small show of weakness. It spat at him that he already knew that factor was in play. The Hunter was already planting that reality in him. Dean breathed heavily. Then forced the suave, teasing mask back to surface. "You're just making an excuse so you don't have to go outside for a stupid little horse show." Dean accused.

Sam looked startled, the change had been drastic and caught the younger brother off guard. "Dean. No, what if-"

"We'll burn that bridge when it comes." Dean said in a low, ground out tone that made it very clear that there was no arguing. Sam fell back submissively and said nothing and Dean lightened up instantly, sometimes an older sibling just needed to be obeyed. Feeling exhausted Dean pressed on, sinking lower into the mattress as he spoke. "C'mon Sammy. It'll be good to get out in the fresh air with out getting beat up by a horse and getting in contact with a bunch of people, who knows what we can find out about the fires and predators." Dean reasoned, ending the conversation and turning back to his tea.

"But Dean-"

"Sam she obviously feels responsible for us. 'I can't leave y'all alone when yer in a state'?" Dean imitated Celia's drawl perfectly, "Not true but let's humor her. She wanted to go to the damn thing, she said so herself. If she feels like she can't leave us alone then we go so she can. It's the only solution. It might be fun, not our kind of fun but fun."

"Alright, but if you even feel queasy tomorrow, no way." Sam growled, it was an empty threat and he knew it.

"Whatever bitch." Dean muttered as Sam stood to walk out of the room.

"Jerk." Sam resonated back without the same amount of joke or venom it normally had. Sam passed down the hall and into the kitchen.

"Red?' he looked around and then ducked his head to look under the table. Buckshot and the old collie Alamo were gone. Sam sniffed a little and walked purposefully into the mud room and pulled out one of the walkie-talkies. He turned the channel to two and walked out to stand on the porch and watch the bay paint jump at the sight of him and snorted, shaking her head and pinned her ears, standing as far away from him as possible.

"Red?" He called over the channel.

"_Yeah."_ She radioed a second later.

"I talked to Dean, we'll go to the faire."

"_Alright."_ Sam could practically hear the smile in her voice, _"Alright, if yer up for it. Do me a favor then Sam."_

"What's that?"

"_There's a list of numbers posted on the freezer door, call up Lynn Sheridan and tell her that yer callin' for Northwind and that I'll put in one on barrel, one on cuttin', one for pleasure and one in hand for the Labor Day. When she asks for a stall number tell her one on one off and when she asks for hand number tell her two on. She'll give ya a registration number, stall numbers and a time, write all those down for me."_

Half way through her instructions Sam had grabbed a pad and paper and was scribbling down what she said under the silhouette hooves of a trotting horse. Sam read back what she'd said to check and assured her that he would, though he didn't under stand half the lingo that was used.

"_Appreciated Sam. Just try and get that done before five tonight for me, if ya will."_

"Sure, where are you?" Sam radioed back.

"_A few hundred yards out, I'm bringin' in the cattle. I'll be back 'round seven and we'll talk 'bout chow."_

"Alright, see you later Red."

"_Square Sam."_ And the radio fizzled out.

Sam couldn't help but sigh and smile slightly to himself as he crossed over and pulled the list of names and phone numbers off of the refrigerator door and picked up the hand set from the phone. His eyes ran down the list of names and he couldn't help but lift his eyebrows at some of the nicknames, or he hoped they were nicknames, mingled into the list.

_Butterfly Ben_

_Catgut Stevens_

_Massacre_

And others, the list had to have been decades old, the names and numbers rewritten as they faded over the years or crossed out and changed. But the paper had a brittle feel to it, it seemed like no one bothered to or wanted to write it on a new piece of paper.

Sam stopped and looked down at the end of the list were it seemed the most recent numbers were written. He stiffened.

_Mary and John_

Sam's heart stopped and he literally choked on his own tongue. The number next to the last name were blackened, scratched out so much that Sam couldn't read it. There had been a point that there had been another number, then a third and a fourth. But those had been scratched out and Sam again couldn't read the numbers.

Heavily unnerved and feeling nervous, Sam dialed Lynn Sheridan's number and waited until she answered.

"_This is Lynn."_ A light female voice said over the line,

"Hi, Lynn this is Sam Wilson. I'm calling if for Northwind. Celia Northwind." Sam said, trying to flush the unnerved ring from his voice.

"_The Red, huh? Alright Mr. Wilson. She want in on the run?"_

Sam hesitated, "Um…yeah. For Labor Day. She said she'll put one in on barrel and one in on cutting, one for pleasure and one in hand." Sam said reading his notes off the scrap paper.

There was the muffles sound of moving paper and a pen scratching on the other end of the phone.

"_Alright, barrel, cut, pleasure and hand."_ Sheridan muttered, _"Stall number?"_

"Uh, she said 'one on and one off'." Sam repeated.

"_Ya readin' this off a slip of paper, son?"_ Sheridan asked with a smile in her voice.

Sam hesitated and licked his lips, "Um…"

There was a small chuckled on the other end. _"Alright Mr. Wilson, hand number?"_

"She said two." Sam said and was rubbing the back of his neck.

"_Alright Mr. Wilson. Ya got a pen?"_

"Yes."

"_Alright, Mr. Wilson. Red's register number is 4502B. Stalls are 14 and 15 Barn B. Pole time is 7:30 am. Barns gotta be clear by noon Tuesday. Alright?"_

"Okay, got it. Thanks." Sam said scribbling the new notes of information out on a fresh piece of note paper.

"_Mr. Wilson, how'd ya come by to be a friend of the Red?" _Sheridan asked from the other end.

"Huh?" Sam stumbled, "Um, recent friendship." He reasoned.

"_Alright, well let me warn ya, son. The Red's got a streak. Alright?"_

"Alright, thank you." Sam muttered, unnerved.

"_Ya, too Mr. Wilson."_

Sam hung up the head set and looked at the list of names a final time. He felt a small shiver run down his spine, it was definitely unnerving being spoken to that way from a stranger he couldn't even see. Sam rolled his shoulders back to shake the odd feeling. He decided to keep it to himself. Or at least until Dean decided to bring up Celia's red eyes and strange manner again.

"It's not Mom and Dad." Sam reasoned, chewing the inside of his cheek and turning his back on the aged piece of paper.

**…**

Celia came in from working the cattle about the same as she had the night before and hundreds of nights before that one. Bone tired, sore and hanging her head. But as was the creed of the Greer home went animals before man and didn't step foot inside the house until the gates and stalls were locked and all were fed. She stumbled inside smelling thickly of her own sweat and Nevada clay mud with Alamo, Buckshot and Rosie on her heels. Sam's neat hand writing on a scrap of paper drew her attention and she read the information with an ease in a knot in her stomach.

"Thanks Sam!" She yelled into the house. A startled and sharp grunt followed by a thud told her instantly that either Sam had been sleeping on the couch or had just jumped out of his chair. She couldn't help but smile to herself and walked through the rut like routine of partially cleaning herself up then pulled open the refrigerator door and stared into it for a full eight minuets, rubbing her hands over her face before giving a defeated sigh. With a growl she snatched the hand set of the phone, a twenty dollar bill from her wallet and a set of newspaper pizza coupons from under a horse shaped magnet off the freezer door. She marched into the living room were Sam was rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to nurse his laptop, having fallen on top of it when Celia woke him sharply from the accidental nap he took.

"Here." She snarled and dropped the money, coupons and phone onto Sam's stomach, "Order a pizza." Sam looked around at her, he felt the sudden feeling of being ordered around by an elder sibling to finish menial tasks not worthy of the older individual's time.

"Call this person, order that. I'm some kind of messenger boy I guess." Sam muttered and using the coupons dialed the number to a local pizza parlor.

"Being a messenger boy is better than somethin' else I could make ya do." Celia called casually back at him. "Ya wanna eat, make the call. I'm a desert girl. I can go six days without food. I don't suggest ya try it cold turkey like that, though."

Sam shook his head, smiling quietly and after listening to the polite drawl of the young man that answered the other end ordered Dean's favorite pizza. Another ditch effort to try and get his brother to hold something solid down. Maybe bland food wasn't the way to go. Personally if he had the choice he'd take greasy order in food over rice and toast any day. Maybe Dean's basically junk and diner sustained systems would faire better with its normal intake.

Celia stalked into Dean's room. The elder Winchester glanced up bleary eyed at her. His skin looked milk pale and the hallows under his eyes were a blue grey. He looked almost graunt, the color that had started to come back had drained again entirely.

"Shit Dean, what happened?" She asked, startled by the way he looked. Dean swallowed, as if trying to force a lump of clay down his throat. Feeling absolutely wretched Dean found himself unable to lie to her much less put on a mask of 'I'm fine'.

"I threw up again." He muttered and Celia winced sighing heavily. "And a couple times after that."

"Damnit Dean. Ya were startin' to look good again." She crossed over and cupped his chin with her palm. Dean's head instantly became dead weight, supported only by her hand and allowed her to lift and turn his head so she could look at him better. "Ya look torqueked. Ya tried to eat somethin' didn't ya? Or that beer got to ya."

"I didn't eat anything." Dean muttered.

"Ya hungry?"

Dean shook his head, eyes cast down and tired, the green glazed over to a dull color.

"What the hell is wrong with this fuckin' Coyote?" Celia spat under her breath, Dean twitched slightly. "Can't even reason with the damn thing. Dean ? Listen to me." She gave his head a little shake and Dean jerked up to look at her tiredly. He gave a violent shiver.

"Dean that damn thing comes any where near ya in yer dreams I want ya to beat the tar out of it, alright?"

Dean swallowed and whispered tiredly, "Yes."

"Good boy, go to sleep. If ya want sleep though 'til morin' or more, if ya start havin' any kind of nightmare holler for me or Sammy."

"Alright." Dean muttered, already shutting his eyes and intending to fall asleep in her hand. "What Coyote?" He muttered.

"Unanni. Dean. His name is Unanni the Trickster. Tell him to back the fuck off." Celia encouraged. Dean smiled, a painful huff of air, a slight laugh twisted in his throat.

"Dean, for me."

"Alright." Dean rasped and he sagged, falling asleep on command and slumping until Celia eased his head into the pillow and ran her fingers lightly across his temple and into his hair before slipping back out of the room.

**…**

Sam insisted on saving a third of the pizza for Dean. Celia didn't argue and advised him to freeze if for the better of the pizza's own survival.

She slipped off, leaving Sam to his own devices to shower out the night. Stepping out of the shower she stretched and rolled her shoulders back before tying the black bandana over her horns and hair and tugged at her white tee shirt and flannel bottoms. She stretched again but stiffened when she heard the sound of a screen door swinging shut with a bang. Celia titled her head and listened. A sharp eerie howl rose far in the distance and panic struck her again full shift.

"Sam." She jogged lightly down the hall and steps, towards the front door.

Sam flinched as the screen door swung shut with a bang. He hoped that he hadn't disturbed anybody. Especially Dean who had seemed in a deep, sweat soaked sleep the last time he looked in on him. Celia assured him that sweating was a good thing. That Dean was getting over his dehydration, same way that Sam was and she advised him hollowly not to worry.

No such luck, so Sam sought the cool and darkness of the Nevada star flecked night to sort his thoughts and replay memories of the day with fresh air in his lungs and a new way to look at what it meant.

Sam stretched and leaned his weight heavily on the porch railing. He heaved a sigh looked around the moonlit yard. He listened, a full belly and troubled mind to the desert. The faint sounds of shuffling hooves, the odd lowing of a cow or nicker of a horse was back with the croaking of a bull frog somewhere, the clicking of crickets and low hum of countless other insects. Sam stilled himself, trying to hear around his heart beat to listen to the minute shuffling of animals in the grasses and clay dirt.

A man with lesser senses and temperament than someone of Sam's training lacked to hear the smallest sounds and had even less appreciation for it. There was a time that Sam had nothing but hate for the dark and everything it held. He still had some of that hate but here at least it subsided. There was a peace in the still and vast night of the desert. A silence that wasn't a silence and it calmed Sam's spinning head and heart. He sighed and tensed twisting slowly as the soft rapid thudding brought a large desert hare into his better than normal night vision.

The hare twitched it's over large ears, cocking its head and scratched at the earth, chewing a cud in it's craw of grasses and strips of bark. Dean smiled, taking a faint memory of when he was barely six years old and Dean had walked him through a pet store that let you pet the animals for sale. Dean had practically pry a brown and white rabbit out of his arms as the left. Sam had pined over the rabbit for nearly a week, well after their father had moved them on to the next town. Sam smiled at the desert hare. Its dust brown fur twitching and expanding as it breathed.

The hare stiffened suddenly, lurching up onto its hind legs, ears slung forward and sniffing. Before Sam could register there was something wrong a blur of red gray fur exploded from the shadows and slammed into the rabbit like a cannon ball.

The impact was accompanied by the stomach turning crunch of fragile bones snapping and splintering and the gut wrenching shriek that all rabbits made when in their death throws. Then silence.

Sam stood with his jaw slack in shock and horror as the hare's life came to a instant but violent end. The younger Winchester felt his heart seize up and his stomach lurch painfully. His eyes locked on the image like a car crash right in front of you on the highway.

Sharp, glowing yellow eyes glared back and out at him. The wolf gave a slight sniff and pranced once in place. Red hair woven into a patchwork of gray and white gave the animal the image of wearing a cloak for camouflage at night. The fur shifted and rippled, giving it the same flickering existence that ghosts and spirits did when they were looked on by mortal eyes. The wolf licked it's jaws, the hares blood trickling though its fur like a menacing badge of hunter skill and murderous intentions. The lean and long shape of the animal gave it a mean and pained looked. The wolf sniffed and snatched up the rabbit.

"HEY!" Sam barked, startling the wolf into dropping the cache and dancing away from him and out of sight. Sam snarled and looked ready to fling himself over the rails of the porch to go after the glowing yellow eyes that circled slowly around the edges of light, the moon casting over its back and frame.

"Sam?" Celia jumped when Sam twisted around almost violently. He was shivering and his jaw clenched tightly. There was a horror and rage in his eye that startled her. Then it broke and Sam sagged. He took a pained breath.

"I couldn't save it. I didn't get a chance to stop it from killing." Sam rasped tiredly. Celia looked at him in confusion then heard the soft crunch of bone and twisted. The wolf had slunk back up to its kill and was trying to tear it in half and get away without being screamed at again. Celia was struck in surprise she blinked.

"Stop it?" She asked.

"I didn't get a goddamn chance top save it." Sam snapped.

Celia froze, caught completely off guard. She stared at the taller man's lanky frame and was struck completely stupid.

"What?" was all she could manage and Sam scoffed.

"That monster killed it!" He snapped.

"Monster? Sam that's a wolf. That's no monster, it's a predator. Are you suggesting that what it's done to ensure its tomorrow is murder?" Celia asked sharply. Sam swallowed thickly.

_Oh my God._ Celia thought. _No one even bothered to talk to ya about this. Goddamnit! Dean! John! What the hell is wrong with ya!?! Didn't have the sense to explain the nature of death to the boy, just teach him it's evil._

"Sam. Look at me and listen real close, alright?"

Sam looked around at her, his eyes seemed clouded and disbelieving.

"Sam for others to live, some must die." She tried tentatively, how the hell do you have this talk with an adult. "That's survival, Nature by design Sam."

"But-"

"Sam. Death is not 'evil'. Its not an entity that emits hate or chooses victims out of spite. It may seem cruel and cold and strike ya like a rattle snake because it wants to but its indifferent. Ya can't hate death, ya might as well hate air."

"I know that." Sam growled.

"Ya sure as hell don't act like it. The she-wolf has to do what she's gotta to continue to live. Sam look at it this way death is necessary. Without death there is no life, they're the same thing." Celia pressed, keeping her tone firm and solid but far from harsh. Celia bit her tongue for a second then decided to press a terse subject. "Sammy, didn't yer momma sit down and talk to ya 'bout this?"

Sam tensed and looked at her, he looked like he'd just run a hundred meter dash.

"She passed away when I was sixth months old…in a fire…" Sam muttered. Celia sighed heavily and nodded.

"I'm sorry 'bout that Sam." Celia said gently. This was one of those subjects that moms usually covered in early childhood. Good mothers, or which Mary Winchester had been. Hell that's what a gold fish when you were four years old were for. Of course for Celia it had been a pony as the main subject of the conversation but Dean had gotten the goldfish. John had suggested a hamster but Mary was sure that the hamster would have been more resilient than a thirty five cent feeder fish.

Celia continued. "But Sam, it's the means and reasons for the death. Not the death itself. Don't think I'm approving of serial killers and gang wars in the big city. Death can be corrupt, twisted and mutilated and that, that's something to call a monster. But that…" She indicated the wolf trying to gather up her kill. "That's a death untainted, there's no shame in it and no reason to call her a monster. Do ya understand what I'm sayin' Sam?"

Sam took a second to process what she said, the compassion and gentleness in her voice lessened a blow that had become something of a monster with years of neglect. Sam breathed out heavily and felt a settling deep in his heart and stomach. A pained ease and Sam watched in silence as the wolf finally gathered up the hare in her jaws and loped away.

"Yeah. I get it."

"Let that rest, Sam. And everythin' I said goes the same for pain." Celia laid a light hand on his shoulder. Sam nodded and turned back to walk in doors with Celia pacing at his side.

Sam settled himself down into the cushions of the couch, with the same fight with Rosie the Red Fur calf, with an ease he hadn't felt in the memory of his life. Rosie lowed quietly and curled up against his stomach. Sam smiled and draped an arm over her side.

**…**

Dean opened his eyes slowly as the bang of a screen door. He cracked his eyes open and rubbed his eyes and scratched at his scalp. He felt the pains in his chest rattle a little as his ribs expanded in deeper breath.

He listened, hearing the sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen. He felt the mattress shift and the sound of Valentine dropping off of the bed and walking out of the room with a lupine grunt.

Dean sat up with a groan and let his nausea and spikes of pain subside, he fell like his skin was sticky and slicked with sweat. Dean forced his way into his jeans and a tee shirt. Feeling a little spunk coming back he slipped the .45 gun into the back of his jeans and got shakily to his feet. Pain flared down his spine.

Dean tensed, it sounded like there was a radio on, he could hear singing. He stood tense then followed the sound. He eased down the hall and glanced over the back of the couch and made sure his brother was still deeply asleep. Rosie opened one large brown eye at him and sniffed. Dean reached over and gently patted the calf's skull then turned towards the kitchen. He stopped at the edge off the door way and stiffened.

Celia had her back turned to him, she was mixing something in a bowl. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail and a bandanna in place instead of the brown Stetson Dean had grown accustomed to. Dark jeans and her leather belt with the bone hilt knife on her hip. Barefoot and shifting her weight in what could be nothing than a small dance. Her head bobbing. Dean drank in the slender shape of her back and taper of her waist but Dean's blood had gone cold in his veins and rage, an anger imploding with the bitter taste of betrayal.

The white tank top she wore showed off the scarred tattooing, ever mark was defined and screamed at Dean. The exact same marling she'd had in his dream two days before. Dean's hand flew to the gun in his waist band and in deathly silence she crept towards her with the barrel trained on the back of her neck, the fall of his bare feet on the warm stone tiles so light they would have done a fox proud.

And through the drowning feelings of betrayal Dean listened to her singing over whatever song was on the radio. His heart jerking painfully at the honey sweet voice filled the room.

Celia's head bobbed in time, _"What goes around comes around, feel it breathin' down heavy on ya. Ya made that bed yer layin' on, deeds that ya have done, now ya cain't undo. _

"_Ya got bones in yer cloest, ya got ghosts in yer town. Ain't no doubt, they're gonna come out. They're waitin' for the sun to go down. Ya cain't hide fro yer demons, feel 'em all lurkin' 'round. Yer runnin' scared 'cause ya know they're out there. They're waitin' for the sun to go down. _

"_It's a long and hard road we're on, when seeds that ya sow grow by the wicked moon. Be sure yer sins will find ya out. Yer past will hunt ya down. And return to tell on ya. _

"_Ya got bones in yer cloest, ya got ghosts in yer town. Ain't no doubt, they're gonna come out. They're waitin' for the sun to go down. Ya cain't hide fro yer demons, feel 'em all lurkin' 'round. Yer runnin' scared 'cause ya know they're out there. They're waitin' for the sun to go down."_

Dean felt anger bubble deeper in his chest at the lyrics and he ground his teeth together as she closed. One more step and he could press the muzzle of the gun into the back of Celia's neck.

Celia tensed at that bare noise of scraping enamel. She sniffed once and caught a cloud of Dean's scent. In a blur so fast it rattled Dean's nerve Celia drew the bone hilt knife from her hip and whirled around. With a thick swallow of air and a soft growl from both parties Dean and Celia suddenly found themselves at a stand off. Celia's bone hilt knife was pressed into the smooth flesh of Dean's throat. A little pressure more she'd cut his throat. And the muzzle of Dean's .45 was pressing into the skin of her neck. If fired the bullet would pass straight into her wind pipe, shred the fragile veins and tissues and shatter her neck vertebrae.

Both stood with their eyes narrowed and their chests heaving and the sounds of the radio crackling from the counter.

"Take it off." Dean snarled. Celia's eyes narrowed even more and she did not move. "**Take it off.**" Dean snarled again.

With a growl Celia reached up with her free hand and tugged off the bandanna from her hair. Dean's teeth slashed into the inside of his cheek painfully as he growled and ground his molars together tasting the metallic bite of his own blood. His eyes roamed over the two, obviously shorn down horns splitting from her hair line. If they had been left to grow Dean was sure they would have curled around his ears the same way that they had in his dream.

"What the hell are you?" Dean spat in her face.

"I'm a god." Celia stated, no emotion in her voice as she kept the blade firmly against his throat.

**…**

**The song is "Bones" by Little Big Town off their first CD "Road to Here". Read and Review porfavor y'all…the planet mary and all her woes...**


	12. The Stages from Definition to Apology

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Twelve: Definition, Explination, Fear, Submission, Pain and Apology.**

**"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. There is much fear in you."**

**-Yoda **

**…**

Dean stared at her for what seemed like a small eternity. He didn't realize that he was breathing deeper and more relaxed than he had in the last three days, hell probably longer than that. It could have been months since he last felt this calm. He couldn't tell that the blade Celia held against his throat had eased up, giving him room and lessening the threat all together.

He didn't notice his acceptance of this situation. The last few days had been foreign to him. Compassion, trust, acceptance without test; everything that Celia represented and did for them was beyond Dean's comprehension. It was like wearing someone else's skin; he knew it existed, knew it was something normal but couldn't manage to get the feeling of oddity shaken off.

With Celia's knife at his throat, his gun at hers; blood colored eyes glaring at him and horns splitting through her skull and the plain declaration that she was a god. This felt normal, it felt right and like he was finally getting his life back on track. Dean felt an unbridled joy rolling around in his heart. He mentally thanked Celia and what ever hell beast had placed her on this earth for her existence. He almost smiled.

He still felt the painful bite of betrayal. As much as he wouldn't admit it Dean had trusted himself and Sam into Celia's care. It hurt that she had 'betrayed' him by being what she said she was.

A scraping at the door and soft whines and growls assured him that the dogs were outside and unable to go for him for threatening their mistress.

"A god?" Dean asked, classic skeptic and Winchester Hunting charm in his voice. Dean scoffed, "You don't expect me to actually believe that bullshit. You're not a god."

"Ya know what, yer right. I'm a bit more of a commission, truth be told. 'The girl-child of the Wind born mortal to carry on his line when the time comes'. Roughly translated," Celia gave a bare shrug. "So if we're gonna be technical I guess as close as yer gonna get is a changelin'. 'God's over steppin' a little."

"Please. This isn't Shakespeare-"

"Ya know _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ then?" Celia cut him off and raised an eyebrow at him. Dean gave her a look that said _I was speaking_. "Sorry, go on."

"Thanks." Dean snorted.

"Yer welcome."

Dean's face twisted, a disbelieving look on his face, "You're something else." He growled.

"'Cause I have manners? I was raised better'n than to interrupt someone and not apologize." Celia said proudly, she lifted her head slightly. "Anyway ya were talkin' 'bout Shakespeare." She urged him back to his monologue.

Dean narrowed his eyes, "You're not a god, not a 'changeling'. You're just some breed of demon or you're a person possessed by one. Who ever told you you were a god was trying to use you."

There was a silence for a second, then-

"May I speak?" Celia asked.

"What?"

"May I speak? I wasn't sure if ya were done talkin'. Hunters in positions like this have a habit of makin' long speeches. I don't want to interrupt ya twice in the same hour, that's bad form."

Dean looked absolutely shocked. That feeling of comfort, being back in the saddle as it were, was fading fast. "You know I'm a Hunter?"

Celia sighed, "Yeah. And Sam, too." Dean tensed at the mention of his brother.

"How?"

"Boy, ya think yer the only one come up here lookin' to carve a name outta my hide? I knew what ya were the second I laid eyes on ya, ya got the smell of one, its down deep in yer bones, in yer blood. Yer heart beats slower than normal men, when ya move its purposeful. Ya don't waste any energy in movin' more than ya have too, I can barely hear ya breathin' which with my ears is somethin' to be proud of. Ya got a hard look in yer eyes and ya think I wouldn't notice yer scarrin'?" Celia sighed with a raised eyebrow, "Dean ya all around scream predator. Yer a wolf. No, Sam's a wolf. Yer more like a bobcat or a wolverine. They're more dangerous than a wolf."

Celia hesitated, looking at him for a second.

"Yeah, I'd peg ya bobcat. Ya got that same lean look to ya." Celia assured him, _Ya didn't used to, _she thought privately.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean spat. "You've been sizing us both up this whole time!"

"No I've been tryin' to help ya this whole time. Just makin' an observation." Celia sighed, "Anyway, 'bout me being a demon. Yer only half right, I am possessed."

"But you're a self-admitted god. Gods can't be possessed." Dean mocked.

"Now, we just went over this. I'm a changelin' if it has a name. And when it happened I had barely a single breath of air, I was too young to even be called infant." She twitched, giving her head the barest of shakes. "Like I could shake that off then."

"You been in control of this girl for twenty years?" Dean spat, suddenly sure that an exorcism would kill the host behind the red eyes, if it wasn't already destroyed.

"Actually I'm twenty five going on twenty six. But if yer lookin' for black eyes and that creepy voice don't waste yer time. I'm in control, not the other way around. Yer probably lookin' at the only host that caged the demon instead of being rotted out. I'm fascinatin', aren't I?"

"I don't believe you for a heart beat." Dean snapped.

"I wish ya would." Celia said truthfully. That stopped Dean and he stood staring at her uncomprehending.

"What?"

"Dean, there are few individuals in the world that can appreciate what it takes and what sacrifices are made to put the monster on a chain and keep going. I've been fightin' this one for twenty five years, and yeah there's been a more than my share of stumbles on the road but I've done pretty damn good if I have to say. All he's ever gained on me is turnin' my hair and eyes red." Celia said, there was a sincerity and a pain in her voice, then she spoke as if an after thought, "And the horns, too."

"So you're telling me that you were commissioned by the god of the Wind to be born, then a demon possessed you and for the last quarter of a century you've been fighting it and _winning_ for the most part while trying to eek out a 'normal' human existence as a cattle rancher in Nevada?" Dean summed up.

Celia thought for a second, considering his words.

"Wouldn't believe it myself but crudely put yes." Celia assured.

Dean almost burst out laughing, his green eyes hardening. "If that's true, man, sucks to be you."

"Mm hmm." Celia nodded slightly.

"What demon?"

Celia turned her head slightly and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, the blade scraping across his throat.

"Sam!" Dean snapped.

Sam stood completely unarmed with the Rosie at his hip with her ears cocked. He looked unthreatening, unprepared and his face was written with belief.

"One of the first." Celia said at the slight skeptical look on Dean's face. "He saw the rise of the world and spat out lesser of his kind for millennia before he made the mistake of crossin' me."

"Does it have a name?" Sam asked stepping forward slowly.

"Shikoaka, the Big Dog, the Swallower." Celia said. A shadow passed across Sam's face and his head lifted, shoulders drooped and a shaky sigh passed his lips.

"Ya know him?" Celia asked quietly.

"I think you should start at the beginning." Sam said and he reached out taking the .45 and knife and set them on the table. Dean glared around at his brother and looked ready to reach for the gun and knife but Sam stared down his brother and Dean snorted, grumbled under his breath.

"Alright. Ya boys want any particular breed of pancake?" Celia asked, turning back to scoop up her mixing bowl and stir the batter inside, stepped over and turned on the griddle in between the four burners on the stove top. "'Cause I warn ya, I'm a chocolate chip and blueberry girl."

**…**

Dean grudgingly stuck with coffee, a few bites of a chocolate chip, blueberry pancake had been all he'd been able to take and he nursed the 'very weak' coffee that Celia had made especially for him. Which was the only way that Celia would allow him to have the drink at all. And she kept throw glances at him as if expecting him to vomit all over the table.

Sam was sitting cross legged in his chair across from Dean and Celia sat at the head of the table. They looked expectantly at Celia and Dean's eyes kept flicking to the gun and knife.

"Go on, Red." Sam urged, Celia nodded, chewing her forkful of pancake and swallowed a mouthful of fresh milk that she'd taken from one of the cows in the herd.

"Alright. Ya gonna believe me when I speak?" She asked looking between the brothers.

Sam nodded and glanced at Dean who had hardened. The elder Winchester received a sharp kick in the shin under the table and Dean nearly spilled his coffee. He growled as Sam and grunted an assent.

"Alright. Well what ya heard 'bout gods being immortal is bullshit. They can die just as quick as anyone else with a beatin' heart. They get sick all the time." Celia said.

"What gods are you talking about?" Sam asked, Celia cocked an eyebrow at him. "There's a lot of religions out there."

"Well Sam most of those are and extension of the true gods. They all have many names and shapes and spread out to thin over the world and minds of many. But most of those gods are fabricated from glimpses of the other. There's _Wi'peta_ for fire, _Uktena'mni_ for water, _Hop'ojaja _for wind, _Inyan'makoce _for earth, Sun, Moon and Ocean who are the generals of the Creator. Least ways that what my kin reasons and we'll go with that, it's gonna be confusin' enough as is. With me so far?"

Sam and Dean nodded.

"And they had a brother, _Shikoaka_, who was made from the nightmares and fears and hates that the Creator cast off because the Creator can't be bothered with that shit so he made it into a livin' animal and put it next to the others in the spirit world.Well they made the world together and there are a hundred and a half stories I could tell you about how this happened and that happened and if ya want ya can ask later." Celia sighed, rubbing her temples. "But movin' on, being made out of nothin' but discord _Shikoaka_ hated the whole thing and reeked havoc when ever his brother's and sister's backs were turned. 'Cause ya know they're always cowards underneath. Well he crossed the line when the Big Four all found themselves mates with the sons and daughters of the four tribe Cheiftains of men. See 'cause the Moon and Ocean were already an item and the Sun was asexual."

Dean snorted a little into his coffee and Celia pressed on.

"_Shikoaka _decided to weddin' crash, but he couldn't do it himself. But one of the Chieftains didn't want to give up his daughter to the Wind so he helped get _Shikoaka_ an invitation and in the doors. Well the Big Dog aligned himself with man and he tried to kill off the sons and daughters and pissed the hell out of his brothers and sisters and they literally tore him apart. And because it was man that had helped him they cast _Shikoaka_'s natural evil on man to fester and give him the bad nature that led to war and hate and so on. And they locked _Shikoaka_'s heart into the trunk of a massive tree and as long as it beats mortal man feels the pains of the curse. And the four gods go on and have their half blood babies and make lines for themselves in man's world and forget they even had a black sheep in the family until someone busted the heart out of the tree. Lot of speculation 'bout what happened but what the medicine men figure happened is _Shikoaka_ used the ill will of men to get strong enough to start spittin' out true demons and corruptin' spirits. Everythin' that Hunters go for are indirect results of him, feel free to thank him, he gave ya yer jobs."

Dean and Sam narrowed their eyes bitterly but continued to listen in silence.

"But the Big Dog decided to make it his personal mission to kill off the blood lines of his brothers and sisters, especially _Hopi'ojaja _, who's consort was the daughter of the Chieftain that he blames for his misfortunes. So the gods have gotta do somethin' to keep themselves and their blood lines alive. 'Cause they have a bad habit of droppin' dead from time to time they use that mortal blood line, like an heir-ship, and every 'chosen' pup of that line gets a healthy dose of the soul of that particular god. It…warps the kid, gives them a view of the world that has been cultivated since the Sun rose first over the desert. It's not fair honestly," Celia looked down into her cup of coffee and stirred it slightly with a spoon, "Kid never gets a chance to be their own person, influenced in the womb. Whatever they could have been, whatever I could have been, snuffed out before seein' the light of day."

Celia was quiet for a second, pushed her plate of half eaten pancakes aside and sighed, then she pressed on.

"Well, bout twenty six years ago _Hopi'ojaja_'s last in the blood line met with an end. No one really knows how, he just wasn't there anymore. So here's the Wind in a bind and needin' someone to carry on his blood. So he goes to the blood line and speaks to my father, Fell Northwind a Blackfoot Indian and my mother Kipcha Kuruk, a Pawnee-Nez Perce and tell 'em to go a head and start procreatin' and in nine months I'm good to hit the scene, bit of the Wind for a soul and everythin'."

Sam and Dean were a little taken aback by the bitter and dismissive attitude that Celia displayed for her own creation and birth.

"But here's where it gets complicated." Celia said. Dean rubbed a hand across his flush face.

"As if it wasn't already…"

"Hold onto yer britches. The Big Dog decided to cut _Hopi'ojaja_ off at the pass and really do him some harm and finds me, kills of his host at the time and the first breath of air I take doesn't even have air in it. 'Course _Shikoaka_ wasn't expectin' any kind of resistance but the best laid plans sometimes fail and he had himself in a bear trap before he could back out. The Wind tells me I was stronger because both of my parents were his descendants and I got a double dose of mojo. Medicine men tell me it's 'cause of being born under the Crow or 'cause I had a warriors blood from both my parents. One had the sand packed to tell me I was strong 'cause I going to live a life of pain and hardship and that the Creator took pity and touched me a little. Figures that the last one has been the closest to the nail head so far. In 'bout a week of my birth, green eyes turned blood red, black hair the same and two buds were pushin' at my skull. I had horns before I had a full head of hair." Celia drained her coffee in a draw and sighed, slumping down, crossing her fore arms and hiding her face through them to the table.

It was the most that Celia had ever spoken in one turn and it had been exhausting laying everything out for the Winchesters…a _third_ time and she honestly never wanted to do it again.

The two brothers sat in silence, processing what she had related to them. The story seemed outlandish even for them and dug into obvious pains for the red eyed woman.

"Been fightin' him ever since." Celia muttered into the table top and gave a shaky sigh. "He likes givin' me nightmares, it's 'bout all he has the strength to do. I've just 'bout stripped him down to his bones. For me he doesn't seem to put up much of a fight anymore but…he is what he is…I know he's…I don't know…"

"Red?" Sam asked tentatively, and Celia lifted her head and looked at him with questioning eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"How did you get adopted into this family?"

Dean whipped around hard and looked at his brother, it had been the last thing that Dean had expected Sam to ask.

Celia swallowed heavily, "When I was a pup, barely two or three, there were prairie fires like the ones in the last few weeks and my home town and everyone of Windin' Tree, Nevada didn't make it. Caught us in the middle of the night. I got out just barely, rode my pony Blackbird across the river, kept going and didn't look back 'cause Fell told me to, wandered the desert and ran into nine year old Elijah Greer…by chance Sam…" Celia's face fell back into the table top. "I kind of followed him home."

"The same Blackbird that you were riding when you picked us up?" Sam asked, thinking of the buckskin horse.

"He wasn't even a yearlin' then, good mustang can live thirty years. He's in his bounds being twenty-two." Celia defended her favorite horse quietly then dropped her face back into the table.

There was silence again and the two brothers stared at Celia's red haired pony tail and the ram's horns. Dean couldn't help himself and reached out; he brushed his fingers lightly over the ridges of the left horn as of making sure it was real. Celia twitched but didn't pull away.

Sam and Dean each heaved a heavy sigh and looked at each other. It was an unspoken agreement that they were going to stay were they were at the table until a decision was reached.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh and brushed the back of his hand across his jaw line. "We'll exorcize it." He said resolutely.

Celia jerked her face up from the table and stared at him with startled eyes. "What?"

"Don't worry Red. It'll be easy, we are Hunters and we have done our fair share of exorcisms." Dean assured her, standing smoothly. "Sam-"

"Already on it." Sam rose to his feet and was starting for the door. Celia looked between them, horror struck her face.

"Yer serious." She muttered.

"I thought you knew about Hunters, we do this stuff." Dean sighed and lifted and eyebrow at her.

"Fuck no!" She lurched up and back, the chair she was sitting in pitched over and crashed to the floor with a rattle of wood. Celia scrambled back from them in a panic.

"Red?" Sam asked, freezing on his way to the door and the Impala.

"NO!" Celia looked terrified, the fear was down deep in her eyes. The blood color darkening so much they were burgundy, not black but burgundy. Dean had never seen someone so afraid, not even in mirror on those nights that he swallowed pill after pill and drank poison after poison.

Memories, phantom pains and excruciating terror ravaged through Celia without mercy.

Dean knew she was going to bolt before she even moved. He had a feeling that Sam wouldn't have been able to hold onto her and he knew that he didn't have the strength or stamina to chase her. He lunged at her before she took a step. It was oddly like catching a rabbit in mid leap. Celia yelped as Dean's arms crashed closed around her torso and yanked her back as she tried to lunge for the door. Celia stumbled and trashed in terror.

"NO! PLEASE! LET GO!" Celia begged, practically wailing. Dean planted himself, leaning back into his unnaturally low center of balance, adrenaline rushing through his veins and making it possible for him in his heat stricken state to over power her. Celia in her fear stricken cloud was unaware how easy it would have been to over power him. She only trashed and struggled lost in a fit of emotion and shocked out of her strength. But her world was reacting to her horror.

The already dreary sky was darkening, clouds churning into steel blue-gray, the temperature rose sharply, desert heat rushing up to the morning instead of waiting for mid-day and pushing into the house. Dean and Sam flashed looks at each other as the angry howl of wind tore into the surface of the land and ripped up dirt, dust and clay as if trying to start a sand storm. There was a rattling, hissing deep in the bowls of the house, the pipes rattled and water rushed up pouring out of the kitchen faucet and bubbling up from the drain in bare seconds the sink was full and the water spilling over onto the tiled floor.

Celia kicked out the table crashed over, the coffee mugs, plates of chocolate chip, blueberry pancakes plunged to the floor and shattered, the chairs pitched over and accompanied the sound of breaking ceramic with splintering wood. Sam stood unsure what to do, he had a feeling with the sound of scratching and whining at the door that if he stepped out side that it was possible he would be attacked by the two German shepherds if not all three dogs, he was unsure of Alamo had it in him to go for someone.

The more Celia struggled more she found that the cage of Dean's arms tighten, trapped against the elder Winchester's chest like an animal. She was sobbing now, fear she hadn't felt in years exploding behind her eyes, body racked with gut wrenching jerks and pains as memory after memory slammed into her. Somewhere deeply buried inside a monster dug its claw deeply into her and started to slash into the inside of Celia's soul.

"Sam!" Dean barked, breaking his brother out of his trance, Sam jumped his head jerking up and staring at Dean.

"Sam?" Celia gasped as if she'd forgotten he was there, she didn't realize the Winchesters were there. The thing trapping her was a phantom made of night mares, a wraith. It wasn't Dean. "SAM?! SAMMY HELP! PLEASE! _Nanichawai_ Sam! _Kai nasukkuse gizhaan napuisai_! _NANICHAWAI_!" Celia trashed, begged, pleaded with Sam, wailing in terror. Sam was struck deep in his heart and chewed the bottom of his lip, unsure.

"Sam!" Dean barked.

"But Dean-"

"Sam we are helping her!" Dean barked, "Getting rid of this demon, it'll help her! Sam go!" The order made Sam swallowed thickly. He took a deep breath and shoved the screen door open, bowling two of the three dogs aside, Alamo lunged forward trying to push passed Sam and baring his teeth at the younger brother. The collie skidded as Sam swiftly shut the door and jogged over to the Impala, shading his face and eyes from kicked up dust and fighting the wind.

Celia went limp, all the strength went out of her she slumped down, collapsing against Dean's frame for support. Her chest and body jerking spasmodically in pain, tears and dry-heaves.

"Dean…Dean…_Ahote_…please…ya can't." Celia begged.

Dean felt a spike of pain in his chest. A deeply innate sorrow to see her distress, her fear. Dean loosened his grip just barely and eased her down to sit on the floor; he knelt behind her keeping her trapped against him. Celia showed no more signs of struggle, only pain. Dean pressed his elbow into her ribs to keep her still and lifted the hand of the same arm and gently brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

"Red…Celia, breathe. We're trying to help you." Dean whispered reassuringly in her ear. "Just breathe." Dean had seen violence, denial and shock when it came to an exorcism. Even a spike of fear that was crowed out by the demon within, but he'd never seen such a rash and terrified reaction in his many experiences. Her terror seemed so complete, so pained. The calm and collective young woman that he'd grown somewhat accustomed to had splintered in a heart beat, shattering like a brick through a stained glass window. It disturbed him, startled his resolve, but if she was telling the truth the only way to get rid of _Shikoaka_ or whatever demon she was fighting was exorcism. He was steady in that. They were helping her, the same way she had been and still was helping them; fighting off an illness though her case was more of a disease.

Dean inwardly and totally forgave her, the 'betrayal' he'd suffered earlier that morning blamed on the demon, not her. He felt suddenly assured that he had been right to trust her and all his caution and nervousness and anger plunged head first into attacking he demon and sending it to Hell, he disliked seeing her fear and tried to comfort her. Dean knew his crushing hold on her torso had at the very least had bruised ribs if not cracked or broken them. Dean stroked the back of his knuckles along her jaw in short, gentle movements; trying hard not to frighten or hurt her any more than he already had. The icy cool of his silver ring a shock between his heat stroke flushed skin and her fear and stress fever flesh.

Celia was following his commands, trying to breathe slowly but choking on sobs and gut wrenching coughs. He was unsure how to deal with an exorcism that the host was in charge. He was used to beating them senseless and tying them down. This was a more delicate situation, which was enough to make Dean nervous, it felt wrong when there was a real person pleading for you to stop instead of a demon trying to order you around and feed you lies about family members that had passed away.

That didn't change his conclusion of what was necessary to be done.

Dean spoke quietly in her ear.

"Stay calm Celia. What are you so afraid of?" Curiosity getting the better of him.

"_Him_…he'll…_Ahote_ he'll kill ya…he killed the last…he'll kill Sammy…leave me alone…" She whimpered shivering and looking wild eyed into space.

"Celia we're trying to help, you. Do you understand that?"

"Ya think yer helpin' me…" Celia panted. Dean swallowed thickly at her tone and sighed.

"Dean?" Sam muttered, shoving Valentine back with his boot from the other side of the screen.

"What?"

"We have a problem."

**…**

"Problem solved." Dean sighed shakily, dusting off his hands.

Celia slumped back against the railroad tie fence post, her arms handcuffed around the thick wood, it was a gate post just outside the barn. A Devil's Trap practically dug out of the hard pack earth around her.

"Why'd ya have to tear up my yard?" She sighed, defeated and crossed her legs in the dirt.

"Dean if this demon is _Shikoaka_, if she's telling the truth this won't hold it back." Sam growled softly, rubbing his arm gingerly. He and Dean still sporting scratches from a scramble to lock the three dogs up, Sam pulled them one by one in the door and shutting them in different rooms. Buckshot was in the bathroom, Valentine in the mud room and Alamo in the bedroom Dean had taken over; the brothers could still hear the frantic barks and scratching of claws on wood.

Dean sighed, Sam had been shooting down his every attempt to contain Celia since Sam lifted the problem of just how strong (if it was it at all) this particular demon was. Dean looked down at a book at his feet Sam had pulled from the trunk; it was a sort of encyclopedia of monsters and spirits as a book got. It was opened to a page practically littered with Sam's short, neat scrawl. Like every page in every book that Sam owned he'd made notes in margins and between lines. Dean couldn't read some of the notes but written in dark, large letters at the top was _'Shikoaka'_.

But for all the notes that had been made there seemed to be little that actually helped; if Sam had know he would be crossing the demon in the future he would have done better research, he'd just taken flippant notes when ever he crossed them in other research, just like every other monster in the particular book. An old college habit for future study that carried over in usefulness in the Hunter world.

"Sam, she'd tied with concentrated iron handcuffs around a railroad ties post with a ten foot diameter Devil's Trap." Dean said again. "With a rock salt pentagram because _you_ wanted one."

"Dean-"

"Ce-Red, how deep does that post go?" Dean asked, tripping over her name and nickname, unsure what to call her now.

Celia sighed, "It's an eight foot post, two and a half feet are sunk in the ground in Nevada rock concrete, it's easier to get unwanted in-laws outta yer house." She dead panned tiredly and let her head fall back and stare up at the swirling and darkening clouds.

Dean quirked a tiny smile before it faded. Sam swallowed thickly.

"You're helpful." Sam tried quietly to reconnect, Celia had been air headed since her meltdown and though she had perfectly good reason to be upset Sam hated it and wanted to turn back time and start the whole morning over.

"I'm hopin' ya'll change yer minds. Yer good boys, I don't want to see ya dead…" Celia's attention drifted and she bowed her head, her chin tucking into her chest and she let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to live with that…"

Sam looked pleadingly at Dean who shrugged it off with a slight snort, though he felt uncertainty creeping up on him.

"Dean, in Dad's journal-"

"Sam!" Dean's patience finally snapping, "You already told me and I know you want to research but I'd rather stop this son of a bitch than look at web pages! Do you want to do this or not?!"

"No! I don't! I think this is the wrong way to do this." Sam snapped back. Written in their father's journal, alone on an other wise blank page was the inscription: _Shikoaka – Avoid_.

"Oh, c'mon Sam! She told us herself, it's a demon! How the hell else do we get rid of it?!" Dean barked back. the air cracked sharply, splitting and screaming and making Celia and the Winchesters flinch.

"Was that lightening?" Dean asked.

"Heat lightenin'." Celia corrected quietly. "Storms comin'. Bad one…" She threw back her head and sniffed a few times, like a hound dog scenting a fox trail. The Winchesters watched in silence.

"From the east, it's gonna be muddy for a few days…cain't tell if it'll start a fire…hope it doesn't."

"You can smell that?" Sam asked, looking at her like an exceptional bacteria doing tricks in a biology class.

"I have a good nose." She said curtly but not without the broken weariness in her words, "Makes bloodhounds look bad sometimes."

She gave up no more than that. Her silence made Sam shift nervously from his left foot to his right and back. It would have settled his stomach if he knew that was her natural state. But he had probably heard her speak more than Celia's own brother and it was a foreign thing to the younger Winchester. Sam turned the leather bound book around a few times in his hands, trying to put off actually opening it to find the Latin for the exorcism.

Dean growled, he really hated being the bad guy the whole time and snatched the book from his hands and started flipping through the pages.

"How are ya going to do it?" Celia suddenly broke the eerie quiet, Dean looked up to find himself looking her dead in her blood colored eyes.

"What?"

"I want to know which particular method ya plan to use." She stated without much more life than a half dead rabbit.

"Methods."

"If intend to use somethin' that someone else already tried maybe it'll save ya the trouble…if yer still keen to go on with it." Celia rasped tiredly and slid a little lower into the earth against the post. She uncrossed her legs and bent her knees up towards her chest.

"Are you telling me that you've been through this before?" Dean asked, his hands freezing on the page he'd just turned in the book.

"Three times." Celia muttered into her chest, twitching and giving and annoyed jerk when her hair got caught in the splinters of the wood post.

"_Three?"_ Sam and Dean asked sharply. Celia nodded.

"The first time it was a true priest, the one before Cormac took over the flock." Celia's voice died after that. Dean and Sam stood waiting thickly, when no more came they stepped in.

Literally. Dean and Sam crossed the boarder rings of the Devil's Trap and crossed the ten feet to crouch, sitting back on their heels to study her. Their natural curiosity and assurance that Celia was immobilized pushing them to pry.

"And?" Sam prompted quietly.

"He was a mean bastard, I was nine, no ten; kidnapped me from Sunday class. Had given me the evil eye since the first day I walked in on hallowed ground. He just kept screamin' at me and smackin' me in the back of the head with a bible. Traded for a King James at one point, felt like a dictionary. I had a concussion by the time he was caught doin' it. Had to go to the hospital, my first CAT scan."

Dean and Sam looked at each other, as unsettling as it was they cast aside the first attempt. What the former Tuscaroaran priest had done was as far from an exorcism as a person got.

"The second time?" Sam said, she shifted, easing himself down to sit on his hip.

"A Hunter, name of Grant Wash or Walsh, somethin' like that." Celia sighed, "Stalked me like a wolf, confronted me once or twice before he cornered me. Didn't have a Devil's Trap, just tore me up until I couldn't breath, guy didn't have any kind of class or finesse. He was an animal, he was spittin' rites and prayers at me between kicks. I could feel my spine movin', twistin' before Jo-" She hesitated and swallowed, refraining from using John Winchester's name. But Dean and Sam both caught the slight trip in her words, "-before jerk got his own beatin'. Nathaniel and one of his buddies came lookin' for me and found the guy kickin' me in the guts. Wasn't much left when Eli finally got his go round at him."

"How old were you?" Sam prodded.

"Couple weeks off of fifteen." Celia sighed, "Spent my birthday in the hospital, it was a crappy one anyway. Didn't get anythin' really good, new saddle. It was alright."

"Who's Nathaniel and Eli?" Dean asked quietly, the names spiking a very faint memory.

"Nathaniel was my father and Elijah's my brother in the Greer family." Celia sighed. Dean cocked his head.

"Nathaniel Greer _was_ your father?" Dean asked quietly, a shadow passing over his face.

"I don't want to talk 'bout that right now." Celia said curtly, rolling her head around to look up at him coldly. Dean blinked and immediately made the conclusion that Nathaniel Greer was dead and it was clear that Celia was embittered by it and unlike Sam who looked ready to press the matter and received an elbow in the gut from his elder brother he knew that he sure as hell hated it when he was being pressed about John's passing.

"And the third time?" Dean pressed, feeling a little queasy and dizzy set the leather bound book aside and eased himself down to sit directly in front of Celia; his mind spinning, almost blurring as it roared at him.

"The third one was a Hunter, too, two or three years ago. And he was fond of blood lettin'." Celia looked Dean dead in the eye then lifted her head and stretched her neck. At the base of her throat and extending down her chest nearly out of sight under her tank top was a distinct scar. Pale, pearl colored tissue was shaped like a Christian crucifix, the cross of the scar running from one collar bone to the other. Sam stared at the scarring like it was an offending snake and Dean only hardened.

"Saved myself on that one. He got damn close, had to run into the desert. Spent three days getting' myself back in order before I wasn't feral anymore. So I wouldn't hurt anyone." Celia looked around at Sam, "At least I wasn't in the hospital." She muttered as an after thought.

The Winchesters studied her in silence and Sam licked his lips to keep them from drying out.

"So if ya were plannin' anythin' like that they didn't work. All it did was scare me."

There was the reasoning for Celia's frantic reaction to the idea of an exorcism Dean thought and he didn't blame her for that.

"Red, why didn't those exorcisms work?" Sam asked, shooting a glance at Dean and hoping his elder brother was listening and soaking in what Celia was saying. If Sam couldn't discourage Dean then maybe Celia could.

"The Big Dog… I don't want to let him go." Celia rasped tiredly and sniffed quietly. The sky split over head, the heated air rumbling as another strike of heat lightening struck over the air.

"Why?" Sam pressed, her watched carefully as Dean's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, signs that the elder Winchester was thinking rapidly.

"'Cause if I'm stuck with him he cain't hurt anyone." She responded truthfully. "Ya lock a dangerous dog on a chain don't ya?"

"Or you euthanize it." Dean responded coldly. Celia and Dean locked eyes and they stared at each other, like they were trying to communicate without speaking. Neither wanted to break eye contact first.

"Dean. Please. Don't do this." Celia pleaded suddenly, and Sam had the distinct feeling that he_ had_ missed out on a conversation. Dean's head lifted and a small puff of air passed out of his nose. It seemed like he was acknowledging the fact that Celia had made it clear that he was in charge, it seemed sort of primal to Sam. Male over female, the latter submitting and looking for mercy when she found that the fight was useless.

It was animalistic.

"Dean." Sam pressed, vouching for Celia against his brother. Dean didn't even look at him, just locked his eyes on Celia.

"Dean there's no doubt, no denyin' that I'm…that _he's_ capable of damage and I hope and swear that there's someone as steady as ya there to pull the trigger when that time comes but Dean why smack a dog across the muzzle until it goes for ya just to shoot it." Celia's voice hardened in her own defense, but there was fear in her eyes. She seemed to have a distinct feeling that she wasn't getting through.

Celia swallowed thickly, "I understand the obligation ya feel-"

"Do you?" Dean asked sharply, cutting across her.

Celia inhaled sharply, thickly. Understanding crossed the faces of the two brothers.

"You're a Hunter." Sam stated.

"I…" She looked ready to deny the accusation, the hard eyes of Sam and Dean bit into her, "No…I'm not a Hunter. I've had a few kills, local trouble, but I'm no Hunter."

"'More than one kill makes you a Hunter.'" Dean quoted shortly. "Nathaniel Greer said that."

Celia pressed back into the post and looked at Dean with as little emotion as possible.

"Ya knew him."

"No. I heard about him, saw him once or twice." Dean said, Sam was shooting looks from Dean to Celia and back again. "Good man, good Hunter. Dad talked about him a lot. Never understood why I never saw the man."

_Ya did more than ya remember,_ Celia growled quietly to herself, then spoke "He was a police officer."

"Didn't stop him from taking a week off to go Hunting, did it?" Dean pressed.

Celia grit her teeth and growled softly, Sam had the distinct feeling that Dean was trying to get her in a rage, maybe to justify an exorcism. It was easier to tell yourself what you were doing was right when your subject was spitting curses and threats at you.

"Dean-"

"He trained you, I can tell. Probably trained your brother, too. He's a Marine right? Saw a picture, the kid with the pony tail, that's Elijah right?"

"Dean, stop." Sam ordered. Celia was grinding her teeth and hissing low in her throat.

"Elijah must be following footsteps, his dad was a Marine too. I know. He and our father were in the same company in Vietnam."

The ringing silence after the statement was only broken by Celia taking a pained deep breath.

"That's how Dad knew him, right?" Dean pressed.

Celia swallowed and looked him dead in the eye. "From what I've been told." She submitted quietly.

"You know us, don't you? Knew our dad?" Sam asked quietly. Celia tiredly nodded.

"Winchester." Celia nodded quietly. "And yer momma, too, but only just."

This hardened the elder brother to a point he looked ready to kill.

"You're full of shit, lying bitch." Dean snarled. Celia only looked him back in the eye and said nothing. "Just some goddamn demon trying to save its own skin." Dean snarled, snatched the book up and got to his feet, he tore through the pages, found what he was looking for and started barking a complicated rite in Latin.

Celia's heart seized, terrified. She felt pain sear up her spine and the monster in her chest snarled. She threw her head back, her skull slamming into the fence post and she muffled a painful wail gritting her teeth as the blossoms of pain exploded, flooding her system and choking her.

"DEAN! STOP!" Sam lunged back to his feet and tore the book out of his older brother's hands.

Celia let out a gasp of pained breath and choked coughing a few time and slumped down into the earth as the pain lessened.

"Jesus Christ." She panted.

"Dean do you honestly think that if Dad knew her, knew about her and there is no doubt that he did if he knew Nathaniel Greer well enough to go Hunting with him, even after Harvelle, do you honestly think that he wouldn't have done something?" Sam snapped in a low growl to his brother. "Especially if it was a demon?"

Dean struggled for an answer. "He let her slide because she'd a war buddy's kid."

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I don't believe it either." Dean muttered and rubbed a large hand across his face.

"Dean she's done nothing but help us, out of her way help us. It's not in any demon's nature to do that, not to the extent that she did. I believe her when she says that she's in control of this. Cut her loose." Sam made the last sentence a command. Dean narrowed his eyes at him then glanced sideways at Celia.

He felt a small spike of guilty pain flood his chest. Her head was hung and her eyes glazed and she was shivering violently. He'd done that to her, in a fit of rage because she admitted to know his mother. He'd hurt her. He felt a long buried surge of need to protect her.

Even from himself.

Dean smacked himself mentally, there was one way to have solved this from the beginning.

"Cristo!" He barked at her.

"Sonofabitch!" Sam snarled. "Why the hell don't we think of that first?!"

Celia only looked up blearily at Dean for a second then her head dropped back into her chest and she concentrated on breathing. There was no sign of flinch, black eyes or demon in any way shape form or fashion, either she wasn't possessed or she really was in control.

"Damnit." Dean snarled in his brother's face and matched grudgingly over to Celia, she saw him coming and cringed away from him as if Dean had his hand raised to strike her. Dean bit back another spike of guilt and swallowed thickly, kneeling down next to her.

"Red, Celia…I'm sorry." He reached around and swiftly unlocked the handcuffs, Celia pulled her hands into her lap and rubbed at her pained wrists and numbed hands. She looked at him suspiciously. Then in a blur punched his arm hard in the bicep. Dean yelped and toppled over, his skin and muscle stinging.

"Fuckin' jerk." Celia snarled at him and went back to rubbing her sore wrists. "Should make ya muck the stalls."

"Alright, I deserve that." Dean muttered rubbing his sore bicep; he lifted the tee shirt sleeve and saw the beginnings of a dark bruise blossoming.

_Since when do I bruise easy?_ Dean thought to himself. He pushed himself to sit up and took a deep breath. Celia continued to massage her palms and the awkward silence lingering made Dean's skin crawl. Sam stayed back, letting his brother try and make amends, but the younger brother recognized the same pride in both of them.

It was hard for Celia to accept that she'd melted down in front of them, lost herself in terror enough to be cuffed around a fence post and badgered into spilling private details of her life.

It was hard for Dean to accept that he'd crossed a line, gone too far on an assumption and hurt Celia for the sake of it and churned his stomach to think how wrong he had been.

Sam knew from dealing with his brother that prideful and stubborn souls like that needed to do things at their own pace and couldn't be pushed or negotiated into acting fast; so he tried to not listen as they spoke to each other.

"Are you possessed by a demon?" Dean asked quietly.

"And I'm in control of him." Celia assured him. "It's a struggle, hard and everyday. But I've got him."

Dean nodded quietly and there was a second stretch of silence.

"Did you really know my Dad, my Mom?" Dean pressed.

Celia nodded.

"Why did you let us lie to you then? If you knew who we were."

Celia sighed a looked around, "I figured there was a reason why ya wanted to lie to me…"

"You didn't like it did you?"

Celia shook her head silently.

"I'm missing something, aren't I?" Dean pressed.

Celia swallowed thickly and bowed her head looking away.

"A lot of somethin'." She muttered.

"Tell me." Dean commanded gently.

Celia looked up sharply then shook her head, "Ya forgot for a reason. I cain't cross that, its not my place…"

**…**

**Starting to come together, isn't it? Again Celia's a CHANGELING (not really a God just the great-great-great-great so on and so forth granddaughter of one) that is POSSESSED by a DEMON named SHIKOAKA and she in control of him (why? In chapters to come!), hope no one finds that a little to hard to swallow…the planet mary and all her woes…**


	13. Speaking in Silence

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

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Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Thirteen: Speaking in Silence**

"**Language exists only on the surface of our consciousness. The great human struggles are played out in silence and in the ability to express ones self. "**

**- Franz Xavier Kroetz**

**…**

"Dean. Help me up."

Dean glanced at her sharply, "What?"

"I cain't get up, my knee. Help me." Celia held her hand out to him. Dean pushed himself up and gripped her wrist obediently and pulled. Celia hissed in pain and hopped on her right foot before gingerly setting her left foot on the earth. She ground her teeth in pain.

"You alright?"

"An old complaint, must have pulled it earlier." She muttered and limped, nearly collapsing. Dean swiftly looped one of his arms around her waist to support her.

"Thanks." She set a little of her weight on his support and hobbled towards the edge of the Devil's Trap, her left knee loosening up with each step. Sam stepped forward to try and break the marking carved out of the earth.

"Don't bother, go let my dogs out." Celia ordered and she took a strong step over the Devil's Trap boarder and onto free space, Sam and Dean spared her a look as she whimpered sharply and panted, "It only feels like I'm wearin' one of those shock collars. Sam, go let my dogs out."

Sam nodded and turned sharply on his heel and jogged towards the house. Celia was able to support her own weight for a second and Dean scrambled to gather up the books discarded on the clay then threw his arm back around her waist. Before either Celia or Dean could start up the stairs the screen door crashed open. Valentine, Buckshot and Alamo exploded out, Buckshot lunging forward, jaws flung open and looking to tear Dean's throat out.

"BUCKSHOT!" Celia barked as Dean reeled back a step.

The dog instantly dropped to the earth, ears pinned growling and glaring at Dean hatefully.

"Let him alone." Celia ordered, "Hear? Sam, too. Let him alone."

Buckshot slumped and whined, lifting his head slightly, pinned his ears but pushed up to his paws and slunk out of the way, eyeing Dean warily as the elder Winchester passed. Valentine stood back at the top of the stairs and whined loudly. Dean reached out to pet the white dog and felt a little spike of sadness when the German Shepherd pulled back from his hand, narrowing his bright blue eyes at Dean for a second.

"Valentine, it's alright." Celia assured, "Alamo, Buck, Val, it's alright."

The proud old collie cocked his ears and sniffed, Buckshot gave a quiet growl but Valentine still took a step back and away from Dean. He looked confused and unsure how to get to Celia around this offensive human. Dean looked pleadingly at the shepherd but Valentine pinned his ears and a soft growl issued from the dog. The shepherd slunk away, limping slightly from the struck shoulder. Dean drooped. Celia saw his disappointment.

Celia mumbled, "They don't take kind to people that try and hurt their pack. Ya crossed a line, he's gonna hate ya for a little while."

Sam pushed open the screen door, held it, and waited.

Celia sighed, "Let's see the damage." She muttered, remembering faintly her fit in the kitchen, the feeling of Dean's knuckles passing over her jaw line and the cold of his ring. Celia struggled to walk, her knee screaming in pain with each step. It was somewhat ironic that the last time she and Dean had taken the stairs together she had been practically carrying him, it had reversed. Celia let out a pained breath of air as she made it to the porch and pushed Dean back, limping on her own over the threshold and into her kitchen.

"Fuck."

The explicative seemed to cover it, Sam and Dean glancing at each other and looking over Celia's shoulders to observe the mess. The water had stopped flowing from the sink and pipes and evidently the washing machine and there was a solid quarter of and inch of water puddle on the tile floor. The table was still pitched over on its side. Two of the hard wood chairs had been splintered, on entirely in half and the other lost two legs and half it's back. The green and black, ceramic table wear was shattered and forgotten pancakes had bloated from soaking up water on the floor. The three ceramic mugs split down their middles or completely shattered pools of dark coffee staining the clear water like blood on a lake surface. The white of the milk swirling in the water around the shards of glass. The table, Dean and Celia's chairs had survived but otherwise the damage looked worse than it really was.

Rosie stuck her head around the corner and lowed nervously, unsure if she should have come out of her hiding place and flipped her large ears back, liquid brown eyes flicking over their faces.

Celia heaved out and sigh and tangled her hands in her hair, tugging at her horns and mussed pony-tail. She pulled out the rubber band and ruffled her hair. Dean was surprised by its length, just passed her shoulders and streaked with dust and a little rock salt.

"I'll get a mop." She muttered, retying her hair up into a loose bun at the top of her head.

**…**

Sam took on mopping, he wrung out the head of the mop into the now drained sink and let the handle slide through his hands to slap onto the floor again. It felt odd doing menial chores in a household, is seemed so tame. But not entirely unpleasant. Dean watched Celia carefully as he helped her haul the table back onto its feet and set the two chairs on their feet. Picking up shards of glass and ceramic, tossing them with the food into the trash and surveying the damage of the two chairs.

"Gotta take 'em to Stevens if I want 'em fixed. Wonder of the old man's still in town." Celia muttered balancing the majority of her weight on her right leg and dropped the chair leg back to the floor that she had been inspecting.

"Give me a hand." She coaxed and lifted the two halves of the splintered chair and limped stiffly out onto the porch and carefully down the steps to dump the broken chair into her truck bed. Dean rushed to keep up with her. The quilt pains and need to protect her were tearing at him almost viciously, the same way it always did when he screwed up and it got someone hurt. He threw himself full fledged into helping and henning Celia at every move she made. It was strange as only an hour before Celia had been submitting to him, laying herself out at his mercy. Now Dean would have been less miserable if Celia ordered him around. Maybe he was trying to appease her in hopes that she would talk to him, fill in the holes in his memory.

It was strange, it felt like there were no memories missing, no dark spots that stood out. His memory felt complete and unchanged but evidently there was a lot gone missing. Dean tossed the remains of the other chair in next to the first. He panicked slightly when Celia braced her hands on the side of her truck, leaned heavily on it and hung her head.

"Red?"

"I'm fine." She muttered, not really caring what Dean was doing. She was a more than little pissed at him, standoffish and she had plenty of reason to be. Dean ground his teeth at the brush off and tone in her voice.

"Red, I said I was sorry." He bit out almost childishly.

Celia twisted and snorted in his face. "Sorry? Ya lie to me, pull a .45 on me and I still sit there and lay out my story everythin' that I'm ashamed of and the first thing ya do is scare the shit outta me! Ya manhandle my dogs, cuffed me to a fuckin' fence post, tear up my yard and after I tell ya what kind of hell I've been through, what they did to me and ya _still_ go a head on and start pullin' at my blood, my knee is wrenched and there's almost no chance I'll be able to ride tomorrow in the show and ring much less tonight on my shift on the herds! Top it all off its my fault 'cause I fuckin' put up with it!" Celia spat. "Understand I ain't to keen to take up yer apology!"

Dean swallowed thickly, "I didn't know I was lying to you-"

"Bull shit." Celia snapped, cutting him off. Turned as sharply as he knee would allow and tried to storm up the steps. Dena stared after her, feeling a rock starting to form around the little food and liquid that was in his stomach, it made him want to vomit. He rushed after her, unsure what more he could do other than force her to accept his apology. How the hell had he fucked this one up?

_Everything she just spit in your face, moron, _Dean snarled to himself and tried to catch the screen door but Celia slammed it in his face, forcing Dean to yank it open again. Buckshot bared his teeth at the elder Winchester and growled.

"Oh, shut up." Dean snarled at the dog and pushed into the kitchen after Celia.

Sam looked up startled and watched his brother and Celia crash through the door. She stalked across the floor and her boot took a misstep. With a yelp and well before either Winchester could do anything to help her she crashed into the hard tile floor and the puddle of water; catching herself with her hands; her left knee struck the tile then her left hip with a flash of pain in her pelvis.

Celia let out a pained gasp as starbursts imploded behind her eyes and it felt like spikes tore through her left knee. She pushed herself up to an awkward, twisted sitting position resting on her pained left hip and braced on her hands.

"Goddamnsumbitch." She snarled, panted in pain and pounded her right fist into the tile once with a grunt of absolute pain. She threw her head back and let out a shaky breath then started to push herself up.

Quilt bit at Dean and he rushed forward to help her, Sam on his heels. Dean knelt down ignoring the water, started to lift her, ignoring the slowly returning and tightening pain in his chest and his head, the heat was starting to flush back to his skin.

"Dean. Quit." She tried to push him back and struggle to get to her own feet. Dean ignored her, crowding and half lifting her off the floor when she jerked. Dean stumbled, tripped over Sam, skidded on a missed pancake and tumbled to the floor before he was even half way to standing. Incidentally he dropped Celia and she let out a snarl of pain as her knee twisted and crashed into the tile again.

"Fuck it! I'm fuckin' done!" She snarled in pain. "Done!"

"Red-" Dean started towards her again.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" She barked bitterly and hissed in pain and whined quietly. "Droppin' people and shit."

There was an awkward silence then Celia snorted, the snort broke into a low almost hysterical laugh. She threw her head back and sighed, then just fell over onto her side in the water then rolled onto her back and lifted her hands up to grind her palms into her eye sockets.

"God." She muttered and choked on another round of clipped laughter.

"Red, are you okay?" Sam asked gently, stepping over to look down at her.

"I'm just fuckin' unhappy." Celia muttered tiredly and snickered as if it was some kind of joke. She left her hands fall back onto the floor and looked up at Sam a solid six feet above her. It was dizzying and she let her head fall to the left and looked over at Dean, then rolled over and started to push herself up. She gasped wetly in pain and struggled, only making it to her feet because Dean's stubborn guilt pushed him to reach out and brace her under her arm and help her to her feet.

Celia grudgingly leaned on his weight for a second then stepped back.

"Red, I-"

"Shut up." She muttered under her breath and braced a hand on the table. Sam looked between the two and bristled, sure they had been uneasy and stiff but there were conflict lines in Dean's face. The same way that Dean's face always hardened when he was in the middle of or beginning of an argument. Sam grabbed his brother's elbow and hauled him into the living room without explanation or warning and they both practically tripped over Rosie. That tore it for the Red Fur calf and with an agitated maw she galloped across the kitchen floor, her hooves clicking and splashing in what was left of the puddle and shoved through the screen door and out into the yard.

"What the hell did you do?" Sam snarled at his brother.

"What?" Dean barked defensively. "I didn't do anything!"

"Bull shit, Dean. What the hell is wrong with you? First you're avoiding her, then you attack her and now you're practically her shadow. I'm about ready to put you on medication for being bipolar!" Sam hissed.

Dean took the blow as a shock, the thought of another drug in the menagerie of prescriptions, this one forced on him by his baby brother, was unnerving, it turned his stomach.

Sam hesitated at the startled look in Dean's eyes and face.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped and looked around at him. His hardened again, the same lines of battle draw across his face.

"What!?" He spat and Sam went straight onto the defensive.

"Dean leave her alone." Sam ordered.

"Whatever." Dean snarled.

"Dean, she's exactly like you!" Sam finally spit out, glad to have a reason to say it out loud, "Stubborn, to proud for her own good, self-sacrificing and hell, she babies me the same way you do! She's hurt, upset-"

"Pissed off." Dean mumbled.

"When you're like that all you want is to be left alone." Sam growled. "I always thought it was just you, but evidently Red likes to suffer, too. You're both just masochists. So just…quit acting like me!" Sam barked.

Dean looked down right offended. Then hardened, "Sam I screwed this one up!"

"Yeah well, everyone's making mistakes, all of us, now we know why. We were so busy trying to dance around her we didn't notice she was doing the same thing. When you were conscious anyway." Sam snorted. "At least now we can be straight forward with each other."

"She won't talk to us." Dean snarled.

"What?"

"She said she won't tell me anything, 'not her place'." Dean ground his teeth together. Sam sighed, disappointment in his eyes, then he pressed on.

"Well, that doesn't matter. We came here for a reason before you got sick, the fires and the animal mutilations. We're slipping, things are just a little complicated because Red's possessed and she knows…us, I guess is the only way to put it, and we don't know her." Sam pushed and watched Dean waver slightly, "Lets get back to that, the job. Then we can see what Red really knows."

Dean sighed.

"Dean leave her alone." Sam was on the borders of commands and pleads.

"No."

"Dean-"

"No, listen. She's pissed, to all hell and _I_ screwed up big time on this."

"Dean-"

"Sam, listen to me. She said she has to do a patrol tonight. What if we worked it for her?"

Sam's face contorted in a way that made his head seem to slant to one side, "Are you crazy?"

"Listen, we work her patrol tonight, she gets to rest and ice her knee and we get to dig around the territory. That map that I was working on, I glanced at it again last night."

"I thought you were asleep." Sam muttered. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"A hour or two." Dean growled.

"A _hour?_" Sam barked.

Dean snorted and pushed on ignoring Sam's accusation, "Well, that activity, it's circling."

"Circling?"

"In a twety-five mile diameter ring and the center of it-"

"Tuscarora?"

"No. A river canyon in the Owyhee Desert. Dead center."

"Owyhee?"

"Red's backyard." Dean pointed in a general north-western direction. "On the edge of the Wild Horse Reservation in Humboldt National Park and State Highway 226."

Sam rubbed a large hand across his face, trying to call up a map in his head.

"I figure that Red's patrol would walk that and we have a chance to look in on what it is that is being circled."

"What's the name of the canyon?"

"On the atlas Owyhee River Canyon. On Red's file map, Blackriver Pass. We do it this way we're working the job and putting a little back into helping Red. It all works out." Dean forced a casual smile at Sam and stalked back into the kitchen. Sam growled, almost snarled in annoyance and stomped after his brother.

"Red?" Dean asked, the room was deserted. No sign of her or any of the animals.

Dean leaned back on the balls of his feet, almost loosing his balance and growled, he stormed across the room and crashed through the door, practically jumped the steps into the yard and jogged across to where Celia was un-hitching the flatbed trailer from her truck. The hitch ball vibrated with a clang of metal on metal when she yanked the coupling free.

Valentine and Alamo lifted their heads as the two brothers thundered across the porch and down the steps.

Buckshot was hanging at her side like a shadow. The caramel and black dog twisted around and growled softly at the two brothers as they advanced. Celia glanced down at the dog, then briefly up over her shoulder and left out a sigh that made it clear she was fed up with them and didn't want to talk.

She started around towards the driver seat, yanked open the door. With out hesitation Buckshot leaped into the truck cab and stepped across to the passenger seat, making himself comfortable.

"Red!" Dean barked.

"What." She ground out and twisted around to look at them and set her hands on her hips. She lifted her chin proudly and waited for the much taller men to slide up.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, cutting his brother off. Dean glared around at Sam for a second then turned his attention back to Celia.

"Gonna got talk to Stevens 'bout my chairs." She said shortly, struggled up into her truck cab and slammed the door shut.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other for a second.

"She really doesn't like us right now. " Dean growled and in a blur rushed around the front of the truck as it roared to life and yanked open the passenger side door. He was met with the snarling face of Buckshot. Dean reeled but didn't take his hands off the door.

"Dean, shut the door." Celia snarled.

"No, I need to talk to you." Dean barked over Buckshot's increasingly loud snarls. "Move." Dean ordered the dog, Buckshot pinned his ears, bristled and snarled, he looked ready to lay open Dean's face.

"Funny, 'cause I don't need to talk to ya. Shut the door."

"Dean-"

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean barked, then turned back to Celia, he knew that if he reached for the German Shepherd he would get bitten for his trouble, with a grumble he pulled open the back, half-door of the cab and hauled himself up into the back seat.

"Dean! Get the hell outta my truck!" Celia snarled warningly. Buckshot was practically shaking he was growling so hard.

"Just listen to me alright."

"Goddamnit Dean Winchester ya are an Appaloosa's hindquarters if I ever saw one!" She barked, Dean couldn't help but smile slightly, he thought for a second it would have seemed odd for her to say his real name. He somewhat enjoyed the way Winchester sounded coming out in her Nevada drawl. Like that was the way that Winchester should have been said. He had a childlike urge to badger her into saying things like 'colt', 'rifle', 'shotgun', and a meriot of others; he pushed the urge back and focused his drifting mind.

"Celia, please, just let me talk for a second…privately." He pleaded quietly and cast a glance at the growling dog.

Celia narrowed her eyes at him, snarled under her breath in a language he didn't understand then cast a glance at Sam.

"Buckshot, out." Celia ordered quietly.  
The big dog looked shocked, briefly then growled and snapped his jaws warningly at Dean. Pinning ears and snarling the dog twisted around in his seat and dropped down to the earth with a disgruntled snarl. Dean climbed into the front seat, trying very hard not to touch Celia as he did so and shut the half-door and passenger door as Celia shut off the truck engine and settling them both into muffled quiet. He watched the caramel German Shepherd stalk around the front of the truck and walk towards the porch steps. As if to strike a little revenge for himself the dog snapped his jaws at the inside of Sam's knee as he passed. The younger Winchester jumped forward and out of range and looked severely unnerved.

"You didn't have to throw him out." Dean said uncomfortably.

"If ya wanted to speak in private, yes I did." She growled and stared straight a head, not allowing herself to look at the elder Winchester next to her. There was a ringing silence in the truck cab and extremely awkward.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Ya've said that." Celia snapped back, Dean bristled but kept himself under control.

"I…I…shit I just fucked it up, alright?" Dean twisted around to look dead at her. Celia didn't return eye contact or speak. She sat in silence and waited.

Dean heaved a sigh and slumped in the seat.

"Goddamn this is awkward." Dean muttered and scrubbed his short, dark blonde hair with both hands, tugging at the locks. He let out a clipped sound that seemed very much like an 'ugh'.

Celia remained silent and waited; the tension in her shoulders and back and the pain in her throbbing knee were making her irritable and less receptive towards anyone and anything. There was the looming distress that she was entered in three different competitions the next day and there was a very real chance that she would have to pull her card. A disgrace that she would never _never_ live down, not with her to date rodeo and show record.

It would have been a wound to her pride that would never heal. Even it was just a little county faire competition, nothing compared to the National Championships in Las Vegas a few years back. But she blamed the Winchesters, mostly for the reason that it was convenient more than it was their fault. So she waited stone like for Dean to continue and like she had countless times before offered no help to the elder Winchester.

Dean had the distinct feeling that he had probably been in this situation before and wished a rock would fall from the sky onto his skull and endow him with the years of experience when dealing with this young woman. He swallowed thickly and huffed. The elder brother could practically feel the sharp chocolate eyes of his brother glaring at him through the window, probably desperately trying to read lips.

"Listen, Re-Cel…fuck I don't even know what to call you anymore." Dean growled.

"Red's fine." Celia sniffed then lashed out at herself inwardly for giving him that little and shut her mouth tightly.

"Alright. Red. Red, I know I hurt you and I'm sorry. And I know that that's why you're mad at me-"

Celia snorted and Dean stiffened. He lifted his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Celia tensed nervously.

"You're not mad at me for that. Are you?" Dena pressed, attacking her all over again. Dean took a deep breath, observing with an expert eye the way she twitched nervously and looked down slightly. It hit him like a freight train, her sudden offensiveness, her distress when he asked her to talk to him, saying it wasn't her place.

"You're mad at me for not remembering." Dean said.

"FUCK YES I AM!" She snapped and whirled around to bare her teeth and glare at him dead in the eye.

"Red-"

"Dean how the hell would ya feel if Sam just rolled over one day and said, 'Who the hell are ya'?!" Celia barked dangerously.

The idea of the frustration and desperation and pain of that sort of situation struck Dean sharply and he felt the quilt double its weight on his chest. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"That's not my fault."

"Don't you think I know that?!" Celia snarled, "Jesus Dean, I know I shouldn't blame ya but goddamnit if I ain't petty and just want a scapegoat!" Celia snarled and propped her elbows up on the steering wheel and hid her face in her hands, snarling and cursing under her breath.

"I'm no saint, Dean." She growled and ground her teeth together. Dean let a little bit of a scoff escape his lips, he looked over at her with a small smile that was both warm and weak.

"You're no demon either." He muttered and Celia scoffed and sniffed into her hands. Dean's smile faded and his heart sank, he had the distinct feeling that she was crying. That nervous, uncomfortable pinch that all men feel in their guts when a female broke down and wept within twenty-five feet; an instinct mixed of the will to turn tail and run or sit still and comfort her.

Dean stayed were he was and chewed his bottom lip.

"How's your knee?" He asked awkwardly.

"Fucked." She mumbled.

"Well…Sam and I will take your shift tonight. You know so you can ice your knee down and compete tomorrow." Dean's voice faltered half-way through his monologue and he swallowed nervously. Celia's face pulled away from her hands, she twisted around and looked at him, her brow furrowed strangely around her horns and blood colored eyes, her auburn eyebrows knitted together. She searched his eyes, making the elder brother uncomfortable.  
"Ya'd work the ponies for me?" She asked, studying him.

Dean shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

"No." She said resolutely, startling the elder brother. His eyes going wide for a second then narrowing dangerously.

"You don't think I can handle it?" Dean sniffed defensively.

"Dean it's not ya and trust me ya just earned yerself some brownie points but…the ponies? Ya and Sam on yer own with two hundred head wild ponies and god knows what else spread out over the range, c'mon." Celia shook her head, "Can ya even ride a horse?"

Dean twitched nervously. Celia knew the answer was _yes_. Dean was actually an accomplished rider but did _he_ know that.

"I thought, you know, maybe we could use four-wheelers or a truck-"

"No Dean, that terrain won't take it. Only somethin' with a brain can work the range safely. Dean if I let ya go out there I might as well let ya put a gun in yer mouth. It would be irresponsible. Plus ya'd scare the shit outta the ponies." Celia sighed, in the desert action was favored over words and apologies. Dean's offer lightened her heart a little and made the idea of pulled from the competition the next day seemed _just_ bearable.

Well, that was a lie.

"Alright, I get it; you have to ride a horse." Dean muttered, unused to being turned down when he offered to help. Normally he was met with a little resistance that broke down into thanks an acceptance. He'd never gotten an out right 'no'.

"And we don't know how to ride." Dean pressed on and Celia twitched slightly but not enough for Dean to notice. "Teach us."

Celia twisted around and looked at Dean with knit brows.

**…**

The stupid, triumphant grin that Dean had worn the twenty minuet drive out to Catgut Stevens' place to drop of the chairs was long gone. His teeth seemed perpetually grit and his jaw locked so stiff that it felt like it would never unclench. Dean struggled, putting more and more pressure on the reins and couldn't understand why the mare kept backing up.

"Dean! Stop yankin' on my mare's mouth!" Celia snapped, trying desperately to keep her temper and with a tap of her heels into her own horse's belly slid up next to the still backing up Dean and roughly tore the reins out of his hands. The bay, bald faced mare that Celia had set Dean with flung her head out and down with a snort of gratitude, she twisted and wrenched her jaw around the Tom Thumb bit and heaved out a heavy sigh, finally stopping her retreat.

"God fuckin' damnit Dean." Celia growled. She was more frustrated with the fact that she had never had a problem with Dean and a horse before. Sure he was more of a machine and car guy, not as techno-geek as his brother but he'd never been completely incompetent in the saddle.

He was worse than a beginner. She had hoped that by some miracle Dean would sit back in the saddle and it would all flood back to him.

Dean bristled at being cursed at and heaved a heavy sigh. He was quickly finding out that Celia was as protective and anal about her horses as he was about the Impala.

"What do you want me to do?!" Dean snapped, his temper flaring up and twice as frustrated as her. She was snapping and growling at him and Dena had a distinct feeling that she was still taking some of her anger out on him. It was quickly ruining the experience for him. He was flustered, heat flushing his skin and warning him that he was running on short time as the heat stroke tried to flood back into his systems. It did help that he hadn't eaten anything solid in several days and that was adding to his dizziness.

When Celia had walked between the two brothers into the field growling safety rules, not allowing them to even step foot in the barn until they were down to jeans, tee-shirt, button down flannels rolled up to their sleeves and boots, Dean had thought that there might be some fun in learning…or re-learning…how to ride a half-ton animal. Celia had given a ringing almighty whistle, the horses came practically sprinting from all directions to whinny, nicker, neigh, snort in their hands and generally crowd the brothers and Celia of which the latter was used but it was slightly disturbing for Dean and Sam; Celia continued to growl rules that Dean and Sam only half understood and had them lugging buckets of grain feed and water to the horses as the twenty plus head were locked in their stalls two hours earlier than normal with the promise of being let out early the next morning. The brothers had to haul their own saddles, bridles, blankets, beast collars, halters and lead ropes. It had to have been fifty pounds of equipment. Sam didn't seem to mind lugging the heavy, dark leather stock saddle that Celia had finally set him with hopes that Sam's height wouldn't disrupt his comfort while riding.

Celia seemed to have lost some of her venom as she pulled three horses from their stalls once their grain was gone. The pretty bay mare with a smooth white bald face and bright brown eyes, her black legs ended in small, neat hooves and she had a prance in her step and a nicker in her voice that made Dean smile inwardly.

An Appex Quarter Horse cross named Chambeau; who made it her personal business to graze in Dean's hair while he struggled to saddle her correctly.

Next was one of the tallest horses in the Greer herd next to the two massive Belgians, a sixteen and a half hand tall palomino Quarter Horse named Cottoneye Cloud. Sam and Cottoneye's shoulder's were about the same height, the gelding's massive barrel chest was the same width as Sam's shoulders and the large brown eyes, smooth refined profile and calm, intelligent air had Dean making the clear distinction that if Sam had been born a horse he would have been Cottoneye Cloud.

Celia herself saddled and mounted the skiddish and nervous red roan appaloosa Strawbury. The horse seemed larger with a saddle on but the ornery kick in his heels wouldn't subside.

The three horses saddled and bridled to Celia's approval were lead out into the main pasture by hand where Celia commenced to give the two brothers a quickie but thorough riding lesson, starting at the correct way to mount a horse.

Sam had been casting distracted glances at the painted homewrecker mare in the round pen and listened. He absorbed everything the Celia said, did, demonstrated and instructed like it was a criminology class at Stanford in hopes of applying it to the work concerning the mustang mare. Said mare pinned her ears and snorted at them but watched closely and with a fascinated look in her eyes as the boys learned how to handle a horse.

And it was something to see, the three dogs and Rosie the Red Fur calf watched with their heads stuck through the fence.

And with every passing second Dean and Celia got closer and closer to clashing. It didn't help that Dean was feeling shown up by his baby brother. To say that Sam was getting the hang of riding was a drastic understatement. Sam seemed right at home in the saddle and only needed to be told something once before he applied it. Celia had been a little surprised by Sam's relaxed hand and perfect form and left him alone to practice taking Cottoneye in circles, figure eights, back-walks and roll-backs…at a trot and lope.

They had been at it for an hour and Dean was floundering. His heat stroke was trying to hit him again. His skin was flushed, his eyes rimmed and slightly glazed. His vision was just starting to swim, he felt lightheaded and dizzy and his stomach was churning in both pain and nervousness.

To add to the tension Celia was suffering in severe pain. She's taken time to slip on a knee brace and bandage an ice pack into the inside of her knee, hidden easily in the loose cloth of her jeans. But she had to stop, hesitate and reach down to touch the ice pack every twenty minuets of so and refreeze the chemicals in plastic with a murmur of Native American language, but the pain was becoming unbearable. To a point that she had let out her stirrup a little to lessen the arch her knee rested in. Strawbury seemed to know she was in pain and was trying hard to behave for her sake. But pain enough to put off Celia's appetite was star-bursting in her knee every few minuets. It was making her physically ill, enough that she wanted to vomit but she fought it back and through it. Her only inclination that she was in pain was her winces from time to time and her biting temper.

Celia bit back a snarl and took a deep calming breath, she shut her eyes and listened to the lightening crack over head, the splintering of the sky seemed more relaxing than anything else that had happened today. The storm was still coming and coming in strong and hard. The lightening didn't seem to affect the Cottoneye, Chambeau or Celia but the two brothers and Strawbury were flinching with each strike of heat lightening that was getting more and more frequent.

"C'mon, let's get some water." Celia reached out and grabbed a hold of Chambeau's halter and lead rope and tugged it once, instantly the mare turned on her heel and followed as Celia steered Strawbury around the barn towards the metal stock tank of fresh water.

"Where're you going?" Sam called, sitting his weight back and tugging lightly on the reins, Cottoneye instantly came to a squared up stop and waited for his next instruction.

"Water, keep workin' Sam, yer doing good." Celia called back, "No Dean, just let her walk." Celia said calmly when Dean reached for the reins. Dean grumbled.

"If ya need somethin' to hold onto, hold onto the horn." Celia instructed quietly. Dean glared around at her, slightly put off that Celia wasn't holding onto her own reins, her hands set firmly on her hips and the rein draped casually over Strawbury's neck. Dean copied her, setting his large hands on his hips and instantly felt some of the strain and tension in his back and legs drain. He took a deep breath as the two horses walked themselves to the trough and plunged their faces into the water, sucking loudly.

"Here." Celia held out a canteen of water to him.

"Thanks." Dean said politely and took the canteen, taking several large mouthfuls of water. The dizziness subsiding slightly and his stomach settled.

"Are ya alright? Ya look like the stroke's tryin' to get ya again." Celia said quietly. Dean shrugged and avoided her eyes. Celia sighed.

"I'm bein' a bitch hollerin' at ya." Celia sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Dean didn't argue, running his thumb over the smooth oiled leather of the western stock saddle.

"Dean, why isn't this settlin'?" Celia asked finally. Dean looked around at her and narrowed his eyes slightly and continued to remain in uncomfortable silence.

"Ya are the one that asked me to teach ya. Why are ya yankin' on my mare when I told ya not to?"

"I don't know what that means!" Dean snapped. Celia swallowed and stayed calm and even tempered. Strawbury was nervous enough, the appaloosa lurched a step to the right and away from Dean at his sharp outburst. Strawbury snorted nervously and Celia soothingly patted the stud colt's shoulder and neck to calm him.

"Dean ya keep tuggin' on the reins, yankin' on Chambeau's mouth. Don't use yer hands, use yer legs." Celia pressed. Dean shook his head, the same shake he gave every school teacher and every subject in the several dozen different institutions that he had been in. The shake meant he didn't understand, that he was quickly loosing interest in understanding and that he was startling to log it away a something useless and not worth learning.

"Dean try to think how the horse feels."

"She won't do what I tell her to do!" Dean growled.

Chambeau snorted and swung her head around to glare at Dean, pinned her ears and snorted at him before plunging her nose back into the water.

"Actually she's been doing everythin' ya ask her to from the beginin'. Ya sat back in yer saddle and pulled on the reins when she wasn't movin' She backed up, ya panicked and pulled back harder and squeezed her sides, so she backed up faster. Its not that she doesn't understand, its that ya don't know yer askin' her to do it. The saddle is her job, she wants to do her job and she's got a piece of iron between her teeth that ya are in control of. She _wants_ to do what ya ask her to. Look, c'mon, follow me. Do what I do, alright?"

Celia said and sat back into her saddle, she gave the barest of pulls on the reins and Strawbury stepped backwards, a little more awkwardly than one of her better schooled horses but he still did what she instructed. Dean looked at her with anger masked eyes, Celia could see the confusion, the desperation underneath. He was really trying to understand.

But it was just out of his reach.

"Red, I can't."

"Alright, first of all shut up."

Dean bristled. "You-"

"No. Hush, Dean." Celia ordered and Dean's mouth snapped shut. "Look over there and listen."

Celia motioned towards Sam and Cottoneye though she knew the comparison to his brother would piss Dean off. Dean heaved out a sigh and listened.

There was no noise, silence only cut by the sound of Cottoneye's hooves hitting the earth and the rush of air over the horse's nostrils as he breathed. Other than that silence.

Dean's brow knit together and he looked at Celia.

"Horses make a hell of a lot of noise Dean, trust me I know. But the majority of their language is body language. Just like any other animal, people too. What's the first thing ya notice when the Impala's actin' up?"

"The vibration of the wheel is different." Dean answered immediately, something clicked. Dean nodded.

"Ya only need to know five different words and or phrases for these horses, repeat. 'Back'."

"Back." Dean's balance lurched and he scrambled nervously to grab a hold of the horn and reins as Chambeau immediately stepped backwards.

"Don't touch the reins, Dean, leave 'em." Celia ordered, assurance in her voice at the same time. Dean tensed and grabbed a hold of the saddle horn.

"'Whoa'." Celia said.

"Whoa." Dean repeated, instantly Chambeau stopped moving. The lurch out of movement upset Dean's balance as much as the one into movement. Dean heaved a sigh of relief, the itching in his hands to grab the reins subsiding.

"'Good girl'." Celia pressed.

"Good girl." Dean repeated and very lightly patted Chambeau's shoulder. The mare nickered and snorted. Chambeau cocked an ear back and listened, waiting.

"What are the other two?" Dean asked, he felt a little more at ease, a little more driven. It was sinking in and in a hurry. Once the flow got going Dean was a sponge.

"Whistles and a click." Celia said. She whistled and Strawbury's head jerked up sharply, ears flying back and making it very clear the appaloosa was listening. Then she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth making a distinct loud click. She pressed her heels into Strawbury's belly and her knees into his sides and the stud colt immediately stepped forward.

Dean whistled, mimicking the noise perfectly, Chambeau's head came up, she flicked and ear back and twisted her head around to look at him and Dean clicked. Chambeau didn't move but twisted her head around more to look at Dean better.

"Press yer heels and knees in when ya click when ya want her to move forward." Celia instructed.

Dean instantly did what she said, Chambeau gave a happy snort and stepped forward, she snorted and tossed her head, ears thrown forward.

"Good girl, whoa." Dean said, adjusting to his new, cropped vocabulary.

"Sit back." Celia instructed, Dean sat back in the saddle and Chambeau stopped moving. Dean let out a breath of air and looked around at Celia. She gave him the barest of smiles, then hardened up again.

"Alright, western horses, ranch ponies move away from pressure. Press your left knee and heel into her side and she'll turn right."

As Celia explained it Dean attempted. He pressed his heels and knees into Chambeau's sides and clicked loudly, the mare stepped forward and then Dean pressed his left heel and knee into her side. Instantly Chambeau swung herself around to the right.

"Same on the other side." Celia said.

Halfway through the turn Dean pressed his right leg into Chambeau's side and she stopped in her right turn and swung left. Dean lost his balance slightly but not his composure. Dean settled himself back into the saddle and started to speak.

"Stop her without talkin'." Celia commanded quietly. Dean breathed out and sat back in the saddle. Chambeau stopped moving and stood stock still, waiting. Dean cracked a small smile.

"Alright." Celia said and granted Dean a small approving smile. "Now yer talkin' to her, askin' her instead of screamin' at her."

Dean nodded and couldn't help himself from pressing his legs and knees into Chambeau's sides, asking the mare to move with light clicks of his tongue and short whistles.

"Ya only need a little pressure on her reins, just touch 'em, pull only a little bit in the direction that ya ask her to turn. Remember, they're attached to a bar of metal between her teeth." Celia pressed sternly. "Now, quit lookin' at her, look up and a head. She can walk without ya watchin' her look out and when ya want to turn look in that direction, yer weight will shift."

Dean rested his large hands lightly on the reins, trying to avoid using his normally heavy handed touch into a feather light sensation. Chambeau's response time tripled, she moved smoothly and swiftly, something was rolling into place in Dean's mind and body, he felt a burst of confidence and pressed his heels and knees into Chambeau's side and whistled dragging his eyes from Chambeu's shoulder and feet and looked out a head. The mare broke into a smooth lope, tossed her head up and seemed to clench her teeth in a grin around the bit. She tossed her head and pranced her steps. The bay, bald faced mare snorted, _Hell yeah, baby! Now we're moving!_ The mare seemed to whoop. Dean's confidence tripled and he grinned devilishly. In an instant the awkward unsurity, the frustration, the blockage fell away and Dean fell into a rhythm.

Old cowboys and those with old rancher souls like Celia called it 'getting inside their heads'.

Strawbury perked his ears forward and snorted, watching Chambeau move nervously, Celia patted the appaloosa colt's shoulder in assurance but her eyes were lit, flashing and paling, the red faded and turned a color a few shades short of pink.

"Dean, whoa back." Celia ordered, more as an experiment than anything else.

Dean didn't even look at her. He set his weight back in the saddle and tugged just barely on the reins. Chambeau's head swung forward and she tucked her hindquarters down in a slight roll back stop in her trot. Dean breathed out smoothly and set his weight back again, he clicked his tongue repeatedly against the molar and premolars of the right side of his mouth. Dean's hands twitched pressing back on reins and setting his weight back. Chambeau backed up smoothly and without fault.

Dean never spoke, just moved, just breathed. He spoke in silence.

Dean didn't seem to notice that he had loosened up but Chambeau did and the mare moved and worked better just for that sake.

"Alright Dean, do what I do, try not to talk." Celia coaxed, pulling Dean into a game that they had played countless times before and Dean fell into the mimic seamlessly. Each was trying to out do the other and keep up at the same time, not using their hands or their voices. Sam heard the short snort of muffled laughter, glanced up and instantly thought it unfair for being left out and rushed to join in the game.

The unease and tension melted away entirely, like nothing had happened before that hour as the three mimicked and chased each other around the paddock with smiles and sunlit eyes. They forgot about the storm and their pains and stresses, it all slipped away like water into sand.

For Celia it was like old times.

A loud crack of lightening ended the brief release as Strawbury reared up and back with a shriek of fear and had it been a lesser rider would have bolted. But Celia's even and smooth experience and voice calmed the hot blooded colt in an instant. She glanced down at her watch.

"Damn, ya boys rub down and stall those horses, make sure ya lock the doors to the stalls and barns and get yerselves somethin' to eat. I've gotta get to the patrol." Celia growled and swiftly trotted Strawbury through the gate and towards the barn to gather up her walkie-talkie, saddle bags and rifle.

Sam and Dean stiffened, glanced at each other.

"Red, wait. We're doing the patrol." Dean barked, Chambeau loped forward at his command to cut in front of Strawbury.

"Since when?" Celia snorted.

"That's why you taught us to ride, so we can take your patrol and you can rest your knee." Sam threw his brother a glance. At least that's what Dean had told him.

"I never agreed to that." Celia growled, looking from Sam on her right to Dean still blocking her way.

"But-" Sam started.

"No. I agreed to give ya a lesson. Ya cain't do a patrol on yer own, what the hell gave ya that idea?" Celia snorted, feeling her forgotten pain returning to her knee and the tension to her shoulders.

"Red, we're taking the patrol for you." Dean said with finality and Celia bristled.

"Winchester, just because ya can lope a few circles and play follow the leader don't mean ya can take loner patrol on strange territory with a storm like that comin' in." Celia motioned towards the thunder heads swirling and bubbling over head. "It's suicide."

"Why can't you let someone help you?!" Dean barked.

"Why cain't ya figure that this ain't 'bout that?!" Celia snapped back.

"Red, we just want to help." Sam pressed. "Pay forward for what we did."

"Getting' yerselves killed or stranded out on the terrain ain't gonna heal my knee or change the past. That ain't how it works. There are no yesterdays, only tomorrows. Ya ain't going on the range." Celia snorted.

"Neither are you." Dean said resolutely.

"Dean, I need to do the patrol. Leavin' those ponies alone will get 'em killed. I cain't loose another Nokota, I lost three yesterday, I cain't loose another." Celia pressed, "I just cain't."

"We'll take care of them." Dean assured, lessening his sharp tone.

"Yer not going." Celia snarled.

"Then what choice is there?" Sam broke in before the argument got more drastic.

**

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**


	14. Confession

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! YA ROCK, DARLIN'!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Fourteen: Confession**

"**Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were."**

**-Cherie Carter-Scott**

**…**

"Alright boys, come here." Celia sighed, she checked the buckle and made sure the leather of the saddle bag was steady strapped to Chambeau's saddle, she patted the bald faced, bay's rump and stepped around the horse towards the hood of her Silverado. She spread out a map on the metal and waited for Dean and Sam to step up behind her.

"Here's the patrol trail. Starts here, 'bout Crow's Crossroads were ya were stranded. Ya head north along the South Fork Owyhee River. The dirt track road along State 226. Veer east along Jack Creek and up into Wild Horse Crossin' and in towards Big Bend Lake, go along the Blue/Owyhee River and State 225 and through Humboldt. Then sheer west on the boarders of Mountain City and Duck Valley Reservation. Don't cross the boarder of the res, not one foot or the government'll come down on ya like ya were terrorists. Then it's about a fifty mile run out west into the Owyhee Desert to the Elko County boarder. Then sheer south on the boarder to Desert Trail Road, it's rough, unpaved, there ya swing east and follow Trail back to South Fork Owyhee. Follow the river down and swing around Blackriver Pass, after the pass it's only about twenty-five miles back to Tuscarora." Celia sighed.

Dean and Sam's eyes roamed over the map following Celia's fingers as she traced the patrol trail.

"It's 'bout a hundred and sixty miles." Celia finished setting her hands on her hips and resting her weight back on her right foot, "It's 'bout five o'clock now, get back in 'bout one in the mornin' or so without any problems. Three if the storm comes down, here's hope that Pajacock lays off until the morning."

Celia reached down and rubbed her left knee, refreezing the ice pack bandaged into place.

"Wow." Dean muttered.

"Yer gonna be saddle sore, cranky and dead on her feet when ya get back." Celia mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.

"And you do this all the time? Everyday?" Sam asked, starting to shift his weight.

"Sam don't move." Celia's sudden and casual order froze Sam where he stood but she went on without addressing it, "Just 'bout, had a day off a couple weeks ago. I'm used to it so I'll be in better shape when we come in, I want to drive my herd in on the way back. The saddle bags are stocked, compasses, water, chow, aid kits, standard stock for survival on a patrol. Dean I'm gonna advise ya this ain't a good idea. The stroke's calling for yer blood, ya still have a fever-"

"And you're knee should be elevated and iced. I'm fine." Dean growled.

Celia grit her teeth.

"We can do this on our own." Dean added and Celia almost lunged at him.

"The hell ya can. Y'all end up-"

"Dead. You sure as hell are quick to say that." Dean snarled back, "If you knew our dad and 'know' us so well I think you would have more confidence in our ability."

"Ability's got nothin' to do with it ya prideful bastard." Celia snarled. "Ya Hunters think yer invincible, can take anythin' on yer own. Fuck that, ya forget that the natural world is as dangerous if not more so than the supernatural."

"Bull shit." Dean snorted.

Celia huffed out her nose and lifted her eyebrows. "Ya wanna know how I know the two of ya would be carcasses before mornin'?" Celia asked and Dean narrowed his eyes. "'Cause 'bout six inches from Sam's ankle there's a big, bull cotton mouth lookin' for Sam to just twitch the wrong way to bite him."

Dean and Sam both stiffened, freezing and Sam twisted around without moving his legs or feet and looked down. The sharp, sand colored eyes of a pitted cotton mouth stared back up at him. The snake was arched up, twisted into a strike coil, four feet of pure muscle and its jaw was slightly slack exposing curved fangs. It shivered, waiting to move.

Sam felt his blood go cold and stayed incredibly still though it was his every instinct to run.

"Just stay still, Sam." Celia sighed and she stepped around lightly, she was soundless and seamless and in a blur of red she lunged forward, dropping to her knees and grabbed the cotton mouth just below its head. The snake tried to strike, throwing its muscle forward to bite Sam but there was no give. Celia squeezed the snake below its jaw, forcing its mouth open and lifted the snake up. The animal hissed angrily and the four feet of muscle lurched up to wrap tightly around Celia's forearm. She used her free hand to push herself up, hopping on her right foot and limped heavily on her left when she stepped back.

Sam immediately relaxed but couldn't shake the prickle of danger running up and down his spine.

"Thanks Red." Sam muttered, shifting nervously.

"How long was that damn thing there?" Dean spat, bristling at Sam's very near brush with severe pain if not death.

"So ya admit ya didn't notice Ahiga here?" Celia said lifting the snake, Dean looked ready to lash out at her but she cut him off, "Was sittin' there for near 'bout ten minuets, this is what I'm talkin' 'bout. Ya worry so much 'bout every damn thing that crawls out of hell that ya forget to figure in the natural. Goddamnnit boys there's cottons, diamond backs, sidewinders, and copperheads out there that make this snake look like a ring neck. And then some! Bear, wolf, puma, bobcat, coyote, wolverine all insane enough to go for ya and the pony under ya; and its not just the big stuff, there's scorpions, African Killer Bees, fire ants, black widows, brown recluse and a hundred other breeds of spider. Plants out there so poisonous that just breathin' in the spores can shut down yer nervous system or close up yer throat and suffocate ya. Just 'bout every damn thing out there has some kind of venom, poison. The weakest ones will kill a man in days, hours. The best in seconds. And if it ain't poisonous it's got enough weight, tooth and claw to take yer spine out. And that's not factorin' the fact that the desert would laugh herself outta her mind splittin' the earth under ya and watch was fall to yer death or serious injury, down a canyon ridge or straight into a rapid to drown!" Celia took a heaved breath, narrowing her eyes and looking at the shocked faces of Sam and Dean as they processed what she said.

"Look boys the best way I can put it is this. When the Red Road split and man went one way he designed himself to destroy nature. Well, ya can bet that down the other fork of the Red Road nature was designin' itself to destroy man. I don't want ya out there because…shit…I mean when ya get out there they don't give a fuck 'bout yer skill, ability and trainin'. All a puma knows is that yer a fair easier kill than a wapiti or mustang." Celia's face was meshed with worry, drawn and nervous trying to press this fact in on them. "Ya boys are excellent Hunters, better than most could ever be and ya have the sheer dumb luck and habit of livin' where others would fall into their graves but…"

Celia's voice broke and she turned her hand over once or twice her eyes on the snake as it weakly constricted around her forearm.

"…the desert…she's unforgivin'." She finally managed, thickly and looked out on the horizon. The storm was trying to kick up and clay dust was flying.

It was a strange sight for the Winchesters.

Celia, slender framed and heavily weighed down by the nature of her world. Self confessed changeling and demon host. Red auburn hair rippling and lashing across her face, ridged ram's horns curving up from her hair line and back towards the back of her skull. Blood red eyes reflecting heat lightening and iron grey clouds churning over head. White tee shirt and loose jeans, red plaid flannel button down snapping like a flag. Her free left hand slowly and lightly stroking the deadly cotton mouth wrapped around her arm and caught in her hand, like it was some beloved pet and not a threatening animal.

"Celia, we'll be fine." Dean assured, his voice locking, just barely as it broke the glamour. Celia twitched and twisted around, looking at him oddly.

"I don't want ya out there." Celia sighed, looking between the brothers.

"We don't want you out there." Sam pressed back just as quickly. "Get someone else to do the patrol."

"It's the Sabbath, ain't no one to do it but me." Celia grumbled.

"So either none of us go or we all go." Dean pressed, he somewhat hoped that Celia would call the whole thing off. She rolled her eyes slightly and sighed heavily. She stalked around the front of her truck, Sam and Dean, tugged her keys out of her pocket and swiftly unlocked the tool box, before either brother could see in she rooted around and came up with a cloth bag, two rumpled rolls of fabric, nudged the lid shut and locked it again. Celia expertly dropped the cotton mouth into the bag, knotted it and stepping over to the three standing horses put the bag into one of the saddle bags strapped to the saddle of Blackbird, the twenty-two year old buckskin mustang that Celia had traded Strawbury out for.

Celia had quietly assured Sam and Dean that with a storm coming in hard and a night patrol she wanted her best on the job and as Strawbury was in the middle of being rehabilitated it was dangerous to take the roan appaloosa out onto the range. She tossed Dean and Sam each one of the rolled up cloths and the brothers shook them out and started to re-shape squashed Stetson cowboy hats. The hats took form and smoothed as if they had never been rolled up.

"Red, why-"

"Put 'em on and keep 'em on." She ordered quietly and surveyed them with scrutiny as the two brothers reluctantly fit the hats snugly onto their heads. There were rules for everything, what they did, how they did it, what they wore and when they wore it. It was tiring but Celia pressed and pressed on them it was all for their better health and safety. Jeans, tee shirts, flannels and heavy boots only, the hats, too. A walkie-talkie on the belt and a knife in the boot and strapped to the arm.

"Then lets go." She muttered and vaulted up into Blackbird's saddle. The older horse grunted as her weight settled but not much more than that.

Dean crossed over to Chambeau and with a slight struggle kicked off the earth into her saddle.

Sam stepped around to the big true black mare, about a half a hand shorter than Cottoneye Cloud. The large boned mare sniffed at Sam and waited patiently, her large head set high and thick legs ending in large hooves saying there was some kind of draft animal in her mustang ancestry.

All three horses had a rifle sheath was strapped to the saddle and a Winchester rifle peace bound into the molded leather.

"Are you sure I can't ride Cottoneye Cloud?" Sam asked quietly, trying to pat the mare on her noise but the prideful animal jerked her head away from his hand. Celia smiled lightly, Sam had a soft heart and in a second gotten attached to the gelding. It would be a hard change to a standoffish and independent animal like the mare.

"Sorry Sam. If there's a chance of competin' tomorrow I need him fresh for pleasure. Besides, mustangs and stocky Quarter Horses handle the patrol better. Cottoneye's more of a show pony than a work horse. Witch's Widowmaker will take care of ya." Celia assured.

"Is there a reason her name is 'Witch' and 'Widowmaker'?" Sam asked with a twinge of nervousness in his voice. He knew all to well the power of a name.

"Yep." Celia sniffed and without explanation put her left knee into Blackbird's side and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The buckskin stud turned on his heel and broke into an easy trot out of the yard and onto the road towards town. Sam glanced at Dean and smoothly mounted the mare named Widowmaker and without effort turned and trotted after Celia. Dean with a little more trouble brought up the rear with Buckshot loping at Chambeau's side. Valentine and Alamo watched from the steps with keen eyes.

Sam and Dean caught up with Celia and each steered the horse beneath them to trot in pace on either side of the red eyes woman.

"Red-" Sam started again but Celia cut him off.

"I want ya boys to stay in sigh of each other and me, if we get broken at up and cain't catch wind of each other on the radio there's a safe point that I want ya to head towards and wait. No questions, got it?" She looked around at each of them. Sam nodded and Dean didn't change his emotionless face in anyway to acknowledge that he had heard her much less agree. Celia sighed.

"What is it?" Sam pressed trying to sugarcoat his brother's reaction.

"_Tulatu._ All ya have to do is drop the reins, the horses know the way. I've got the lanterns," Celia assured. She reached around and her fingers brushed across one of the three electric lanterns that were strapped to her saddle. "So we shouldn't have to worry too much 'bout breakin' up."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look behind Celia's back. The stretch of road bled into the main street. Dean's eyes roamed over the side of the massive community barn and stables as they trotted passed, it was alike to the rest of the town browned by dust and the painting on the side more faded than the rest of the signs in Tuscrora. He made out the name Little Star Stables and Arena. Off the other side of the barn green fields rolled off out of sight, penned by wire and round tie fences. On the near side of the stables were several arenas and stands for people to watch over the large center arena. Water troughs and stalls, around pen and work out pen, even buck shoots constructed to accommodate the arena of the same dark blue pipe fence. A judge's stands stood on the other side of the arena with banners strung across and sound equipment tested and packed away for the night in plastic crates. Sam refreshed his memory of the town and Dean was taking it in for the first time, having been near comatose the first time they'd traveled through it. His eyes roaming over and soaking in individual homes and building in finer detail than his first glimpse of it. Like and old black and white photo of a town popping up to supplement the westward migration, just as the troops were coming back. Signs looked freshly hand painted, covered porches made up long rows of wooden deck sidewalks of the hard packed roads. Store doors were shut for the observation of the Sabbath and not just because their owners and employees were out of town. Dean registered that though tawnied with age and dust, Tuscarora was green. A river system near by of the same name lushed the whole town with long, soft blue grass. The streets and buildings cast in mottled shadows of tall broad leaf trees.

On the porches of the shops and rustic farm homes were benches made by fathers and grandfathers. Many of them especially around what looked like a general store, bar and coffee shop were crowed with men and women of different ages, all dressed in their Sunday best. Dean guessed them all off work as it was getting late on a Sunday afternoon. Tuscarora seemed like a prosperous little town that had kept to itself and held onto its charm from decades passed.

"Shit, Dubois is on her porch." Celia muttered darkly. Sam and Dean instantly turned their attention around to Celia, then up. On one of the older houses in the town a large veranda was over grown with flowering ivy and magnolia bushes in a neat garden. Sitting on the porch in an old wheel chair was a grayed and grizzled old woman with a sour, pug like face and dark dangerous eyes. She was glaring in their direction and fiddling with the brown blanket draped over her lap and legs. Dean's sharp eyes narrowed dangerously at a glint of light off the sleek black barrel of an antique six shooter half hidden under the blanket. His hand itched and he rested it lightly on the stock of the Winchester rifle strapped to his saddle.

"Why is that bad?" Sam asked quietly.

"She's only the meanest ol' woman that ever lived. Bitter. Don't look at her or talk to her, alright? I have to outta courtesy but save yerselves the abuse."

Sam and Dean shot each other another look.

As the three horses came just about even with the porch Celia cleared her throat. Dean and Sam couldn't help but look at Dubois out of the corner of their eyes but stayed tightlipped.

"Evenin' Ms. Dubois." Celia called light hearted and good natured.

"Don't ya say 'evenin' to me ya ugly girl!" Dubois shrieked back in a voice that was meant more for a cat taking a beating. Dean and Sam's jaws dropped in shock at the vicious verbal attack completely unprovoked. They stared that the grizzled woman rattled and both brothers bristled dangerously, their teeth grit tightly and snarling, somewhere in their hearts a need to protect Celia bubbled up dangerously and they saw the old woman Dubois as someone that was threatening her, even if it was only verbal abuse.

Celia looked dead ahead, unspeaking and her whole body rigid in preparation for an onslaught.

"Demon leper! Don't ya walk away from me when I'm talkin' to ya! Get back here Celia Northwind-Greer!" Dubois shrieked, but the three horses seemed to have picked up their paces and were quickly passing Dubois perch on the veranda. "I'm talkin' to ya ya devil-whore!"

The woman's howl died sharply as the three horses broke into a lope around a corner and down the Main Street.

Celia slumped, a heavy breath of air passing out of her lungs and her chest collapsing slightly, her head drooped and she gave a slight shake, as if to brush off the cutting yells.

"Red-" Sam started, still slightly shell-shocked by Dubois' behavior.

"What?" Celia asked sharply, Sam took a breath and looked around at Dean. The elder brother gave his head a single warning shake of his head and Sam swallowed his instinct to send comforting words in Celia's direction.

"-can we go a little faster?" Sam asked, he was starting to feel the few remaining eyes in Tuscarora training on himself and his brother. He could almost taste the gossip in the air.

"Course, let 'er buck!"

Blackbird gave a satisfied snort, doubled his pace and broke into a smooth gallop. Chambeau and Widowmaker nickered and rushed to keep up with the older stallion. Buckshot gave a sharp bark and broke into a long legged gallop to keep up with the three horses. Sam and Celia easily settled into the rhythm of the gallop, the sound of hooves crashing into the pavement thundered in their ears. Dean swayed slightly, he grabbed a hold of the saddle horn and the reins to keep his balance. Dean's balance slung over the bald faced bay's back and his knees squeezed in. Instantly Chambeau snorted, arched her neck with a grit tooth grin around her bit and broke through the gallop into a flat foot sprint, doubling her speed under the command Dean unknowingly asked for. Celia's eyes flashed up and red locked with green for a split second. The shadow of pride was crowed by determination, competitiveness and challenge. It swarmed together with a sheer glaze of euphoria for the work a head. It was the look that Dean got when he was working a hunt or charming a girl in a bar. The look Sam got when he finally found what he was looking for after hours of research. The look that John had gotten each time his work had saved a life.

Dean realized in that half a heart beat that Sam was right, he and Celia were exactly alike. Sam watched in astonishment as Celia pushed passed her pain and strain and Dean ignored the dizziness in his head and the fever flushing his skin.

"Shit." Sam muttered at Dean's and Celia's competitive nature took over and before the younger brother would get a word in the Chambeau and Blackbird were sprinting, racing each other, each of the two horses had their necks arched tightly, ears flung back and the chomped their bits and with heavy, deep chested snorts Dean and Celia pushed the two animals to their limits, leaving Sam and Buckshot briefly in their dust.

Buckshot let out a disgruntled bark and before Sam could realize what had happened the large dog bounded forward to pass Widowmaker a stride then whirled and expertly leaped up into the saddle in front of Sam. Widowmaker didn't miss a step, the mare actually pushed against the bit asking for rein; Sam swayed but grabbing the horn kept himself steady. The German Shepherd settled himself across the ebony mare's shoulders and leaned back against Sam's crotch and stomach. Sam looked down at the dog in astonishment, the caramel and black shepherd glanced up at him and let out a sharp bark as if to say _Hurry up now! Go!_

Sam sighed, raised his eyebrows and whistled. Widowmaker snorted and broke into a full out stretched gallop, the larger and heavier horse caught up to Chambeau and Blackbird but could only stay a steady length behind.

Dean and Celia were single minded, trying to outstrip each other, whistling in the two horse's ears and urging them on. The sound of hooves was like splitting thunder and the three horses tore down the main road and out of the town. The four miles to Crow's Crossroads was swallowed in seconds by the horses' paces, a spare step a head of Dean, Celia and Blackbird plunged down the northern road of the crossroads with the two Winchesters on her heel and all three with competitive smiles on their faces. As the three horses, riders and dog crashed passed a large crow lifted its head from preening its feathers perched on a lone fence post near the western corner of the crossroads. The startled bird flapped its wings once and cocked its head, watching and listening. With a croak the large black bird lunged into the air, feathers and wings slapping in the wind and it flew after the Winchesters and Celia, cutting through the air rapidly and catching enough speed on the air currents to fly directly above them and cast a shadow down on Dean and Celia's necks as it followed from the sky.

**…**

Celia finally sat back in her saddle and Blackbird gave a thankful snort checked his pace and slowed. Dean and Sam startled galloped a full stride passed her before Chambeau and Widowmaker took over and skidded into roll-back stops.

Over head the sky rumbled, growled and split with a snarl and broke into a shattering of lightening.

Chambeau threw her head forward, gave a single, deep chested and congested cough then shook her head. Widowmaker gave a full bodied shake right under Sam, giving the taller Winchester a good shake for himself before the heavy boned mustang flung her fore-hooves out in front of her stretching down into a bow, forcing Sam to grab a hold of the horn to keep upright. Widowmaker stretched her neck out and yawned, rolling her weight forward and back to her full height. Buckshot dropped to the earth and shook himself, stretching in the same way that the dapple gray just had.

"What you stop for?" Dean asked like a treat had been torn right out of his hands. He'd completely forgotten in the gallop that he 'wasn't a good rider'. The three horses' hearts were already starting to slow down and relax while the hearts of the Winchesters and Celia stayed at their adrenaline pumped high for a few moments longer.

"Boys we just took an eighteen mile run. Literally, and yes while the ponies can take a lot more than that we're not breakin' any horses' winds because we want to frolic. Time to go to work." She reached around to her saddle bag and carefully extracted the canvas bag containing the cotton mouth. She deftly untied the knot and tipped the snake out onto the ground. Blackbird dodging easily a step aside before the snake hit the ground with an angry hiss and struck towards Blackbird's out of reach ankle. The cotton mouth coiled up as the horse stepped away from it and as soon as it thought its life safe slithered away into the prairie grass on the side of the road. The flat stretch of the scrub desert had started to slope and underbrush grew into forest growth around them. The trees towered over their heads in old growth, the leaves turning golds, reds and countless shades of browns as fall set in.

Celia stretched in her saddle and let out a pained, wet gasp, her hand flying to her left knee, her face wrenched in pain.

"Red?" Sam asked sharply. Celia waved him off and breathed out heavily. She panted, muttering under her breath and the chemical ice pack re-froze, stiffening around the inflammation and pain in her knee. She breathed out as the sharp pain dulled and she sat back, re-adjusting her seat to ease the weight off of her left leg.

"I'm alright, just stiff." She lied. The pain had been extreme, almost nauseating.

"No you're not." Dean accused and roughly steered Chambeau around and up to Celia's left side, before she could back Blackbird away from him, Dean reached out and grabbed the buckskin's bridle and tugged it once to ensure the horse wouldn't move then reached unceremoniously for Celia's knee. Celia hissed as pain flared up when Dean's palm put pressure on her knee.

"Dean." Celia snapped dangerously.

"Red is that an ice pack?" Dean asked, feeling the strange pack strapped to her knee with a knee brace.

"It would have melted long time ago." Sam said, "Red you didn't really think that an ice pack would help at all?"

"Sam-"

"What?"

"Quit talkin' over me." Celia growled quietly, but Dean ignored her.

"Its still cold, ice cold." Dean muttered.

The two Winchesters went silent and looked at each other then Celia. She grit her jaw and stayed quiet.

"Alright, how?" Dean asked in a growl. Celia bit her lower lip and looked away from Dean, the elder brother pressed his left leg into Chambeau's side and the bay mare stepped over, practically into Blackbird and making it easy for Dean to glare down at her. "Celia." He said sternly.

"I can do little stuff, alright?" Celia growled. Dean kept his eyes hard on her.

"What kind of _little stuff_?" Dean pressed and Sam twitched nervously in his saddle and Buckshot was growling warningly.

"Little elemental stuff." Celia muttered, looking like a scorned child. "Change water temperature and freeze it, harden mud, stupid little stuff, alright?" Celia snarled.

"Is that from the demon or the changeling part?" Dean asked coolly.

"Honestly I couldn't tell ya." Celia grumbled. "And I _don't_ use it in excess. Just heat coffee or a shower when my brother uses all the water. It makes me dizzy anyway." That was a blatant lie. 'Dizzy' was nothing, tapping into the truly unrestricted power of elemental manipulation would cause nausea, vomiting, fever, joint pains and migraines so severe that they could give her black outs, memory loss and possible brain damage. Celia felt the phantom pains of having cooled Dean's blood a few days before.

"That would be handy." Sam muttered, remembering my hotel nights of cold showers because Dean used all the hot water unknowingly.

"Handy?" Dean snarled. In a blur his hand moved from Celia's knee up in a blur and grabbed a hold of Celia's left wrist and wrenched it around. Celia let out a snarl of surprise and winced as Dean's grip tightened rubbing and irritating her half healed rope burn from lassoing the homewrecker mare. "Its dangerous, especially if you don't know how you're doing it." Dean snapped dramatically.

Celia let out an exasperated sigh in a blur that would have done any Winchester proud she twisted her wrist in his grip, locked her own hand around his wrist wrenched expertly, broke Dean's grip and made him yelp as spikes of pain shocked across the fragile bones and fine sinews and muscles of his hand and wrist, and flaring up her elbow.

Sam looked absolutely shell shocked and Buckshot barked encouragingly. The dog had watched Celia use this particular fighting move more than once and normally the human on the receiving side ended up with every tendon and sinew in their elbow torn and their wrist broken. Maybe the shepherd would get the same show this time.

"Dean Winchester will ya stop treatin' me like some dog that ya expect to bite or I'll make sure I do!" She gave his arm a warning twist and a new flare of pain rippled over the elder Winchester's arm and Dean grit back his teeth and a snarl of pain keeping his eyes locked dangerously on Celia's, he refused to show anymore weakness in front of her. It was bad enough that he had let his guard down enough to get himself into this position in the first place. Sam was unsure which side of this argument to take. Celia had a point that Dean should stop treating her like a dangerous animal and lunging at her every time that she spoke or did something; half the time anyway. The other half of the time Dean was practically her shadow trying to do things for her or protect her. But Dean had the other half of Sam's resolve, Dean knew dangerous when he saw it, knew he signs and Sam trusted Dean above all other things. Trusted him more than he had ever trusted their father or even Jessica.

Sam probably trusted Dean more than he trusted his laptop and the Internet.

Widowmaker seemed to feel his agitation and was shifting nervously back and forth, the black mare tossed her head and acting ornery as any mustang got in a tight situation reared a half back and forcing Sam to focus on the mare, whispering gently to the animal to settle her hooves back on the earth. But Widowmaker pranced and kicked out once as if to prove the point that she wouldn't be quieted so easily.

"Dean what the hell happened to ya?! Ya would have at least given a body the benefit of the doubt before ya decide not to trust them! Ya were like Sam here!" Celia snarled motioning towards the younger Winchester, "It was hard for ya to but still ya put yer faith in men and got yer heart broken all the time but at least ya were so goddamn paranoid! Stop it!"

Celia practically threw Dean's hand out of her grip and leaned forward to snap in his face.

"When ya got a demon on yer hands y'all will know it! He ain't smart or patient enough to try and hide from ya, he'll go straight for yer throat! Or Sam's! He's nothin' but violence and hate! I should know!"

"How do you know!?" Dean barked back in her face.

"'Cause the last time that he got away from me he…" Celia's voice broke thickly and she bit back her outburst and clipped her response. Inhaling once to calm herself, "…he hurt someone. Bad. And that ain't somethin' ya ever forget."

"Of course it did! It's a goddamn demon!" Dean roared in her face. Celia harden but her mind was swirling uncontrollably with faded and cracked memories of a baby, barely a year old, and the bitter metallic taste of blood. It had take years to build a trust between them and one particularly horrible night of nightmares before Celia had laid herself out to him, what had really sent her running from her home town the night the fires burned it to the ground.

Her baby brother. Jensen.

Every individual has some secret that they kept to themselves and took to their grave or confessed on their death bed. Some horror they committed in their past that was like a black tarnish on their soul.

Celia had been inconsolable, sobbed quietly into her hands with Dean sitting close to her side while she poured out every sickening detail of how the demon within, Shikoaka, had gotten away from her, cracked open her infant brother's chest, eaten his heart and drank the pooled blood in his ribs. Not even nine months old. Her fault. Her kill.

And she'd run. The most cowardly act of her life, run tail tucked for the desert with Blackbird. Afraid, ashamed and without mind. When she tried to go back there was nothing left of Winding Tree, Nevada but a smoking, muddied hole.

No one to hate her, no one to prosecute her, no one to punish her and no one to forgive her.

Only Dean's hands and comforting words of acceptance and eventually forgiveness stopped her shaking. He was the only one that knew and the one that had forgiven her. Now he only saw her as the monster before he'd told her over and over she wasn't was.

"I think you're full of shit. No one can control a demon out of pure will power, not for twenty five years. Not without some kind of spell or Devil's Trap!" Dean snarled in her face.

"What the hell do ya think the tattoos are for?" Celia growled coldly in his face.

Dean narrowed his eyes and bristled like a hound dog on a trail. "Self mutilation? Marked yourself up so you're just a living Devil's Trap. What kind of existence is that?" Dean spat coldly.

"Dean." Sam breathed sharply, but the damage was done. Celia looked like she had been struck across the face. Dean could see the hurt in her eyes, undiluted pain.

"Winchester, ya would have done the same." Celia rasped thickly. Chancing a single look at Sam, just a brush of her eyes over the younger brother's. Celia knew if Dean had done what she had, slaughtered his own brother, his own blood, in a demonic rage…

"Never!" Dean barked, "I'd exorcize the sonofabitch! Especially if it was using me to hurt people! All you are is a coward locking the thing up, giving it every chance to break loose!"

Celia bared her teeth at him and before she lost herself to the argument Celia pressed her left knee into Blackbird's side, the buckskin snorted loudly and in a swift move side stepped away from Chambeau and started at a trot towards the tree line. Dean snarled under his breath and pushed the bald faced bay around and in front of Blackbird, blocking the old stud off.

"Who was it?" Dean snapped. "Some kid at school that teased you? Neighbor kid?"

"Be satisfied with the fact ya find yerself stronger than me." Celia snarled, embittered and harden; glaring at him she pressed her heels into Blackbird's belly and the buckskin snarled at Dean and plowed into Chambeau mercilessly. The startled bald faced bay mare nickered sharply, jerked the reins out of Dean's hands and jumped back out of Blackbird and Celia's way.

"We'll take a walk from here." Celia steered Blackbird at a proud walk off the side of the paved road and into the underbrush. Sam twisted in the saddle to watch her walk away, then twisted back around to look at Dean, raised an eyebrow trying to get Dean to look at him but the elder Winchester was glaring at Celia's back almost hatefully, he was grinding his teeth as he grabbed Chambeau's reins and trotted after Celia, only staying behind her because Chambeau was put out and offended by being plowed into and refused to come up on Black bird's side for a while.

"Dean-"

"Later, Sam." Dean snapped, his temper flared and his senses flying.

Sam sighed andn glanced up, by this time in his nearly quarter of a century life Sam was used to being told that talking could wait.. He came eye to eye with a large crow, perched precariously on the tip of a rusted and forgotten iron fence post on the other side of the road. A knarled twist of barbed wire still trying to cling to the post. The crow cocked its head, large eye blinked. The bird ruffled its wings once and croaked loudly at him. It slightly unnerved Sam and he turned Windowmaker on her heels to follow at Chambeau's heels. He twisted in the saddle and glance back, the crow arched its neck and cawed again, Sam bit back a growl at it and turned his attention back to the trail.

Celia led the way down through the underbrush and into the true forest of Nevada's Humboldt National Forest, the towering trees of old growth yews, maples, birches and several others. Including the late pinkish blooms of dogwoods. The small deer trail only allowed them to walk single file through the trees and crunching in the small growth. Sam and Dean breathed in the scents of the forest, drawing in the forest and by their trained nature buried the argument and knowledge that Celia had spilled out to them.

The earth sloped and the horses started down with Buckshot weaving his way a head of them.

"Lean back, its easier on the horses' backs." Celia said tonelessly over her shoulder.

Dean and Sam both leaned back and they felt the horses ease up on their muscles, the earth dipped into a rocky and sandy bank and the horses splashed down into a river that was swelled well up passed their knees and towards their bellies. The rider's heels just skimmed the water. The three horses broke into odd high stepping trots to keep themselves steady on the unseen river bed but flung their heads down and sucked down large swallows of fresh water. Dean smiled briefly as Chambeau dipped her whole head under the water, snorted to blow a few bubbles then yanked up her head and shook the water out of her ears and nose with a snort. The three horses settled into a casual walk after finding the riverbed suitable for walking. Celia reached around to her saddle bags and pulled out her canteen. Sam and Dean were slightly startled to watch her down the majority of the water then lean far over the saddle and refill it with river water.

"Drink up boys, this water makes yer hearts strong, its Owyhee River water." Celia called over her shoulder. The brothers were startled again by her ease casual air. It was as if she had never said a thing about her past at all. It was slightly unnerving. But Sam accepted it and reached down and dipped his hand into the water and brought a palm full up to his lips and drank what was left from falling between his fingers. Dean only narrowed his eyes at Celia and held onto his anger and distrust

Sam was slightly startled that it tasted different than any water he had experienced before. Sam mimicked Celia, draining the majority of the water from his canteen out of his saddle bag and filled it with water. Buckshot paddled in the water casually, as if he could swim forever.

"Why does it taste different?" Sam asked quietly and drank from his canteen again. Dean glanced at his brother and then down at the water for his own investigation. He reached down and the icy cool of the water practically burned against his fever struck flesh, after the shock he found it a welcome change from the autumn heat of Nevada.

"Sam, there's a hundred stories why." Celia sighed and twisted in her saddle to look around at him.

"Tell one." Dean pressed, looking for a reason for he and Celia to communicate. He still noticed the stiffening up in her shoulders at his voice. Dean wished for the confines of Celia's truck to hash things out. Just because he had set something aside didn't mean he forgot about it, his wariness was bubbling just barely in a rock under his ribs.

"'Bout the river?" Celia asked.

"No about something else." Dean sighed and lifted a little water to his lips and drank it in. It did taste different. Cleaner and stronger.

"Quiet." Celia ordered suddenly pulling Blakcbird up and Dean bristled, he coiled like a snake ready to react, but in the bare second of silence it took him to collect for a retort he caught the same wavering wafting note humming on the air and floating towards them before dying. Some indistinguishable noise from somewhere near by. Sam was twisting around in the saddle trying to catch the noise to sight what ever had caused it. Widowmaker pushed through the water up to Blackbird's side.

"Red-"

"Hush." Celia ordered sharply, reaching out in a blur and grabbing the back of Sam's neck and hauling his head down slightly and around to look at her. Dean and Sam started at the man handling and stared at her. But Celia wasn't watching them, her eyes were roaming slowly around the surroundings. Celia's grip on the back of Sam's neck lightened and slid to the side of his throat, her palm pressed into his jaw and her thumb rubbed over his cheek bone for a second.

"Hush, Sam." Celia breathed, then her hand left his face entirely and in a smooth calibrated motion Celia pulled the custom Winchester rifle from the sling and cocked it. It rested loosely in her grip and across her knee, waiting to see if the noise had been a threat at all. Buckshot seemed to have found himself a perch on a sand bank and was standing stiff, listening and waiting, ears thrown forward.

Dean and Sam's hands made for the rifles strapped to their own saddles but Celia held a hand up to both of them, stilling their movements at the familiar, non-verbal command of hunting, the universal 'hold on'.

The three horses were dead still waiting and Celia's eyes continued to slowly roam over the trees and river bank scrub.

A crash of breaking under brush made the three horses jump, the Winchester's hands lunge for the rifles and put the stock of the custom Winchester into Celia's shoulder in a blur, ready to fire.

The brush on the bank several hundred yards a head broke and a bull wapiti thundered down the bank into the water. The impressive, sweeping rack swung back over the animal's spine.

The red elk's head jerked up and whirled around to stare at them with wide, liquid brown eyes.

Celia let out a tightly held sigh and set the rifle back across her knee. She relaxed a little and slapped her free hand against her thigh, the sound echoed off the banks like a gunshot, the massive wapiti lunged around. Long thin legs and sharp hooves crashing through the water surface and scattering riverbed rock as it galloped across the river up the bank and crashed away into the safety of the trees.

"Well, that's a good sign." Celia muttered.

"How?" Sam asked, rubbing the back of his neck, still slightly stinging from her touch.

"Big wapiti mean's there aren't any big predators around here." Celia explained slightly stiff.

"So it made that sound?" Sam asked as the three horses started down the river again, taking careful but easy steps in the high water.

"No. Ya know a wapiti whistle, that was somethin' else. Stay in the river, it's the easiest path for a few miles."

A similar warbling note rose and then fell again, joined by a few others before the noise died all together.

"It sounds like some kind of bird." Sam muttered.

Celia said nothing and the horses tread through the water, sucking down water whenever they needed it. Celia's rifle stayed rested across her knee, waiting to be called into command. Sam and Dean took the hint and their own personal instinct to stay quiet as possible and listened as two or three carefully tread miles in the river passed with the rising and falling pitch of the same bird-like warbling notes that died and fell out after slow stretches of ten or fifteen minuets.

The sounds got more and more distinct, more human and Sam and Dean's confusion were pressing them to make a conversation with her but Celia seemed caught in diligence silence, her eyes roaming and staying steady, single minded in her work. A Hunter.

The river took a slight curve as the warbling noise became clear, understandable singing.

"What is that?" Dean asked, twisting around to look at Sam who was riding single file behind him, he was behind Celia's lead with Buckshot weaving in an out of their line from swimming in the deeper water to trotting completely soaked in the shallows.

"A hymn." Sam assured Dean having spent more than his fair share of time in Pastor Jim's masses while Dean and John hunted. He'd even taken the chance to join Jessica and her family at one or two holiday masses. The younger Winchester knew the sounds of faith and religion, tough this one was still strange to him.

The river bended and Celia steered Blackbird to walk more on the far bank, Chambeau and Widowmaker followed passively behind, Sam and Dean with their senses flying as they rounded the curve and the river widened out drastically in the bend, smooth dark water sloping up to a slight inclined bank of hard packed earth and red, clay sand. Standing in the middle of the river, waist deep in water was a wide shouldered and balding man with sharp dark eyes, large slow moving hands and a straight back. He was wearing a white buttoned down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of soaked black slacks with a simple black belt. Standing off to this man's side was a slight, young boy with a mop of cinnamon hair, held tightly to a large and weather worn Bible. Two lines, one men and one of women were moving slowly down from the bank, standing, waiting and singing for their turn. The lines were all ages and stretched back up into the tree and scrub line. Each dressed in smooth white robes that floated slightly on the surface of the water as they moved slowly towards the preacher.

They were all singing the same song, some hymnal about traveling down to a river. A few glances were cast in the Winchester's and Celia's direction. A pretty blonde teen-age girl smiled shyly at Sam, before ducking her eyes back to the smooth surface of the water. A man waded up to the preacher as a woman waded away between the two lines towards the bank. The sandy haired man slid up to the preacher and turned to the side. The balding holy man braced the back of the man's head and neck with one hand, closed his fingers tightly over the parishioner's nose and in a swift move dipped the man back, down and under the water. Held him for a few seconds then pulled him back above the water. The man shook himself once then turned and waded towards shore as another woman passed towards the preacher.

"It's a baptism…" Sam muttered under his breath.

"Confession." Celia corrected with a quiet snort. "Catholics."

Dean and Sam looked at her then glanced around at the congregation. They passed by the people and pastor, around the rest of the bend and the voices started to die, a half a mile further and there was no noise but the rushing of river water.

"Red?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." It was the first time that Celia had allowed the beginning of a conversation between them in over seven miles.

"What was that all about?" Sam pressed.

"Catholics, they come from miles 'round to ol' Father Macnara to be blessed and forgiven in the South Fork water." Celia snorted with some casual scrutiny and mockery. "The 'River of Holy Water'."

Sam threw a look at Dean.

"I want to hear about the river." Sam pressed cautiously, "Why does it make your 'heart stronger'? Is that what you said?"

"Ya want the Anglo-Saxon version or the Owyhee version?" Celia asked, she gave the reins a tug and pressed her knee into the buckskin's side. Blackbird stepped around and circled smoothly. Chambeau and Widowmaker side stepped so that the elder horse could turn smoothly into pace between the two others. Sam forced a weak smile at her and Dean refused to meet her eyes.

"Owyhee?" Sam asked.

"That's the native tribe that roamed around here. Owyhee clan." Celia sighed.

"Both." Sam pressed, waiting expectantly. Dean noticed the slight light in his little brother's eyes and pushed back his distrust and anger to allow his brother to dip into something more to his interest. The argument could wait, evidently they had six or more hours to work the range patrol trail and the elder Winchester was sure he would have another chance to press Celia for anything. Sam wasn't the only one that noticed Celia's tension and resistance to him.

"Well the Anglos like to say that the South Fork River was touched by one of the archangels. Saint Michael when the general cast Lucifer and his demons down to earth then below into Hell. Heard tell that Michael washed the blood from his arms and face after the battle and blessed the water." Celia sighed with such an air that she even seemed to be disbelieving of the story. Sam cocked an eyebrow at her, Celia shrugged. "Family friend up in Montana tells the same story 'bout a river up there. I figure that small, Catholic happy towns all like to imagine that some archangel did somethin' to somthin' on their land."

Sam nodded slightly, "And the Owyhee?"

"Sort of the same, that's where I figure that the Catholics and Christians got their stories from. Like they get most of their shit from anyway. Benjamin Kimama is an old buddy of mine, the Butterfly."

"His name is 'Butterfly'?" Dean asked and Celia hardened up again and refused to respond to that. At all. Dean cleared his throat and dropped his eyes tiredly. If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew about it was when something was too soon. Especially when I came to women, better yet, complicated women.

"The dogwood tree is sacred to the clans 'round here." Celia motioned towards a blossomed dogwood tree, its branches bent and bowed, dipping into the water. "They feel everythin'. Show signs of illness when the water or earth is poisoned and growth strong where it's safe. They draw in birds and insects that are healthy for the territory and they're one of the only trees that survives out on the deserts alone. Kimama tells it that there was a horror at the river mouth. A thief caught slaughtered an innocent and left the soul out for scavengers to swallow. The worst injustice. A sadness that rocked the hearts of the dogwood trees, where they hold water and made the sky split in rage. _Pajacock_, the thunderbird that makes the weather, saw how upset the dogwoods were and flew into a rage. He threw lightenin' left and right and poured down rain to drown the thief. The bastard climbed a mountain to get away but the dogwoods were afraid that _Pajacock _would drown the rest of the desert and other lives so they bent their backs and begged on their knees for him to stop. The dogwoods bent so far their skins split and tears ran out of their hearts. _Pajacock_ stopped the rain and the flood water flowed out to the valleys in the blue rock mountains."

"That out flow made the river?" Sam asked, engrossed in the story and Dean was listening intently.

"The weather's vengeful rain and the dogwood water braided up into the Owyhee River, digging a deep trench to always remember that becoming a monster to destroy one is not the right path. The water reminds men who drink it of that, puts their hearts back on the right path. Because they begged and pleaded so long the dogwood's backs were arched and all their children's afterwards. There's not a dogwood three in the Elko county that grows straight. Trust me, I've looked." Celia assured.

Sam huffed in concentration and consideration.

"Any other reasons?" Sam asked.

"Some scientist from Las Vegas University came out and tested the water, he said there was a different kind of mineral in from the mountain flow that made it healthier or somethin'."

Sam smiled at that and shrugged a shoulder. Dean rolled his eyes, leave it to Sam to believe a scientist. Though it was an easy explanation.

"You said 'thunderbird'?" Dean pressed, he pressed into Chambeau's side to trot through the water up to Blackbird's side. Celia looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah." Celia said stiffly and rolled her shoulders back.

"Whats the wingspan?" Dean asked quietly. Celia twisted around to look at him.

"Enough to rock yer foundations." She bit out almost harshly then clicked Blackbird into a lope towards the bank. Sam glanced at Dean questioningly but the elder brother seemed both unnerved and deep in thought.

…

**Hope y'all enjoyed. Read and Review please! The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	15. Honey for the Stomach

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE!COULDN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-Fredrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Fifteen: Honey for the Stomach, No Trust for the Heart**

"**When the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind unassuming persuasion, should ever be adopted. It is an old and true maxim that 'a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.' So with men. If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey that catches his heart, which, say what he will, is the great highroad to his reason, and which, once gained, you will find but little trouble in convincing him of the justice of your cause, if indeed that cause is really a good one."**

**- Abraham Lincoln**

**…**

_South Fork Owyhee River, fifteen miles south of Mountain City, Nevada_

With a snort and a click of her tongue, Celia led the way to the river bank and up the steep incline into the slightly thinned out wood. Blackbird practically had to bound up the slope, Celia leaning forward over the stud's back to ease the weight on the animal's spine. Chambeau followed, bounding up the slope in hops. Then Widowmaker after her. Sam and Dean leaned forward in their saddles, their necks and backs jarred with each lunge up and forward. The dogwood trees around them seemed to stand out more than they had noticed before and no matter how many Dean counted mentally not a single one of them had grown completely vertical. The underbrush broke into a dirt packed deer path they followed in silence and away from the river. Looking between the trunks of trees Dean watched wildlife continue their lives without fear of the three riders and horses, only wariness for Buckshot. Deer, does and large racked bucks, with red brown fur lifted their muzzles and cocked their ears forward to watch the small parade walk casually by. Dean swore he saw the pale gold glow of a wolf's eye before it had blinked out of life a heart beat later. A massive bull elk strolled regally parallel to them for a few hundred yards; head held high to keep the massive tined rack from catching in underbrush and tree branches. Widowmaker shied at several large bear and puma tracks in the mud near the deer trail and only settled when the fading scent was out of her nose. A red fox dashed in front of Chambeau's hooves making the mare jerk back a half step before setting back into her paces. The fox twisted around to look at them for a second, a small rabbit locked in its jaws before bounding into the shadows of the under brush.

All the while Dean's vision wavered just barely every now and then, he was slightly light headed and perpetually dizzy, but Dean like he always had before suffered silently through. Even when the ache in his head spread to his joints and muscles.

The uncomfortable silence hugged around the three of them, though it only seemed uncomfortable to the Winchesters. Celia was used to doing the entire patrol in silence. She was only truly uncomfortable because there were actually people with her. The patrols on Sunday were lonesome ones, spent with no one to talk to except the horse she rode and the dog that came on at her heels. Even then she didn't speak. Sundays were her vigils of silence spent reminiscing. Maybe that was why Dean and Sam seemed to get more out of her now than any other day. It was easier to reopen wounds when there was no bandage.

Five miles and the two brothers looked out over the vast stretch of smooth dark water of Big Bend Lake. The path widened and Dean took it on himself to push Chambeau up to pace at the steady trot next to Blackbird and earned him a glare out of the corner of Celia's eye but not much more.

Another ten miles and they skirted the edges of Mountain City and along the boarder of the Duck Valley Indian Reservation where small copper skinned children and half feral dogs stopped playing briefly to watch the three horses and German Shepherd walk by.

The Humboldt Forest thinned into spare trees and the path was lost among long, tough as nails saw-grass that grew strong up to the horses' knees and as tall as the animal's chests. There were wide spaces between the twisted trees. Dean and Sam continued to keep unsettled quiet until Celia drew Blackbird up with a tug of the reins. The old stallion snorted and stopped instantly, Buckshot immeadiately sat back on his haunches and heaved a tired sigh and panted wetly.

"Red?" Sam asked, having to tug a little harder on Widowmaker's reins than he would have. The black mare snorted rebelliously and still took a full two steps just to prove to Sam that she could. Sam had chosen to ignore the independent mare's little shows of defiance but they were starting to grate on the younger Winchester's nerves.

She wasn't looking at him but listening intently. Sam and Dean could almost see her ears perked. She reached around to her back pocket and tugged out a pair of thick leather gloves and pulled them onto her hands.

"Ya boys still got yer sweet-tooth?" She asked nonchalantly. Celia reached around her back again and startled the brothers as she pulled out a small hatchet that had remained hidden in her belt since they left the Greer property. Without waiting for a response she leaned and bent low over her saddle and grabbed a large hand full of saw-grass. A short swing of the hatchet and the grass came away in her hands. Then a second and third clump. Celia expertly knotted and twisted the saw-grass into a bundle that was normally used to bind herbs for ritual burnings.

It was a strange question, sort of a sudden ball to left field. It was odd to hear someone they still considered a stranger calmly asking things like if they still enjoyed candy.

"Yeah." Sam muttered, watching her intently. The same way he watched her make the bone totems that were currently strung tightly to their necks. Sam's hand lifted and touched the beaver totem he'd almost forgotten existed.

"You've got to stop with this 'weird stuff you know about us' shit. It's getting old." Dean snapped. Celia snorted slightly, her eyes still on the knot of the grass.

"Ya might be grateful I know little things 'bout ya sometime soon. Like the fact that Sam's afraid of clowns and ya are allergic to penicillin." Celia muttered with a shrug.

"How do you know I'm allergic to penicillin?" Dean snapped sharply.

"The hard way." Celia muttered.

"Red, what are you doing?" Sam asked, glaring down at Widowmaker's ears and cutting off a possible argument.

"Little trick." Celia muttered as she flicked the lighter into flame and set the saw-grass a light. Blackbird's head jerked up and back sharply once, shying at the fire, then settling. The old stallion had seen plenty of fire in his life, it was never pleasant to have it sprung on you. Buckshot whined and dodged away with memories in puppy hood of a bad cross with fire. The dog bounded over to sit back on his haunches next to Chambeau's knee. Celia clicked her tongue and occupying her hands with keeping the saw-grass knot lit for a few seconds before blowing it out so the grass smoldered and smoked thickly, guided the buckskin only with the pressure of her weight and knees. The mustang stepped casually to the left and walked steadily towards a tree near by.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other for this odd behavior and watched as Celia stoked the grass and lifted it up towards a thick and somewhat rotten branch above her head.

Sam listened intently then huffed a small, puff of a laugh.

"What?" Dean asked, his sense of humor shot.

"Bees, listen."

Dean listened tightly and caught the hum of bees, thousands of paper thin wings beating and bodies vibrating. As he listened the hum actually dulled, going lazier and softer.

"She's smoking wild bees." Sam muttered and twisted around to look at Dean. The German Shepherd twisted his ears around and whined quietly.

"For what?" Dean muttered.

"You are thick, dude. Honey." Sam snarked, Dean still stared at him uncomprehending then looked around at Celia as the buzzing died almost all together. Celia doused the smoking grass with water from her canteen then tossed it aside, hefted the hatchet and with a swift stroke sank the blade forcefully into the wood near the base of the limb, a half a second later digging her knee into Blackbird's side and making the buckskin lunge aside a full two feet and away from the tree. Watching Dean could see the small, dark shapes of bees humming agitatedly around the wound in the tree. When the humming subsided Celia went back and landed a second stroke of the hatchet with the same side step to safety. With a third and final blow a large chunk of the tree's barks and wood flesh fell entirely away and exposing large folds of hexagonal patterned, golden combs of honey.

Celia slipped the hatchet back into its cradle on her belt and pulled off her leather gloves and tucked them into her back pocket. She pushed up her sleeve and bare handed Celia reached fearlessly into the hive and comb and broke off a large piece, about as long as her forearm and a few inches thick. Ribbons of gilded syrup dribbled down her skin and dripped off her elbow. She gave the broken bit of comb a little shake to clear it of any bees and with a light hand on the reins trotted Blackbird back towards the Winchester brothers. Dean's nose twitched and his mouth watered for the first time in three days, he felt the passes of dizziness attack him more than before, he felt thinner and smaller than he normally was. The three days of heatstroke and fever hadn't been the reason for his weight loss, just the catalyst that pushed him to realize that he had. The use of the countless illegitimate prescriptions, alcohol and lacking sleep had slimmed down his normally healthy one hundred and ninety eight pounds down to one hundred and eighty two.

Celia dropped Blackbird's reins over her saddle horn and pulled her bone hilt knife from her hip. With practiced and well defined passes she carefully scraped the wax from the comb surface without loosing much of the honey, strips of pale gold on her knife blade was casually licked off and made Dean's stomach turn slightly, more in a bite your bottom lip kind of twist than a hunger twist.

Blackbird walked up to stand between Chambeau and Widowmaker and Celia broke the comb into three ragged pieces and broke one of those in half and tossed it to Buckshot. The dog lunged forward and snatched the comb out of the air and crunched it loudly between his jaws.

"Here, boys." She handed one piece to Sam on her right who accepted it with a fawning smile then twisted left and held out the largest break of the comb to Dean, honey running over her hand, wrist and arm. The dying heat of the crawling evening and the warmth from within the hive brought out the smell of wild honey, it was an almost intoxicating scent that drowned Dean's senses.

But he hesitated. Distrust and anger bubbling low in his stomach and chest, warning him to stay away.

"Here, Dean. It'll do ya good." Celia pressed gently, giving the comb in her hand a slight enticing twitch. Dean licked the inside of his cheek but showed no outward sign of his inner turmoil.

"How?" Dean growled, bristling and Celia's eyes narrowed slightly at the sharpness in his tone.

"Dean ya haven't really eaten anythin' in three days, aren't ya dizzy? Yer blood sugar has got to be nil." Celia reasoned. Dean swallowed thickly. The red eyed woman saw no give, swallowed her pride and thrummed it over and over again in her head it was for his health, no matter how much of an ornery bastard he had been so far that day.

"Dean, please." Celia pressed carefully. She saw a flare of anger in his green eyes, just barely there then gone again. The elder Winchester could feel the eyes of his younger sibling burrowing into him, trying to pressure him into action.

Dean sighed and looked up at Celia warily. "Thanks." He reached out and very carefully lifted the large chunk of comb from her hand. The last bit was about half its size. Celia restrained a smile, having a feeling that it would only send Dean into a defensive rage and nodded curtly.

"Best stuff there is Dean, wild desert honey. Doesn't get any stronger, any sweeter any better than that. Search the world over if ya want." Celia said with some hometown kind of pride at that. Sam smiled slightly.

"How do you eat it?" Dean asked, his body was practically screaming at him to hurry up and down the honey, but there was some embarrassment at having to ask for help.

"Just suck on it." Celia said with a shrug as she lifted her arm up and twisted it around to lick the excess that had dripped down her arm and the back of her hand. "And don't bite down on a honeybee."

Dean swallowed thickly again, watching her.

Celia proved her point, gently biting down on a corner of her piece and sucking the honey out of the waxy comb. Dean looked up and across at Sam. The younger Winchester was already licking the side of his comb in a cat like manner.

Dean sighed and turning his comb around once or twice found a seemingly acceptable place to set his teeth, made sure of no bees and wrapped his mouth around the edge of the comb. The flavor practically assaulted Dean and his eyes watered slightly. Stomach lurching painfully at the actual invasion of food into his system for the first time in three days. It practically howled for more as the honey slid down his throat to rest in his stomach. The golden syrup was strung with spice around the natural sweet, practically biting into the roof of his mouth and tongue. There was an underlying flavor of hickory and something distinctly 'desert'. His jaw refused to unlock from the comb and Dean didn't try to will it open, rubbing his tongue across the foreign texture and structure of the comb to draw out every drop of honey, determined to leave it dry. Dean practically drank it, he felt like a starved man (and if fact was), the ache in his bones and muscles dulled just slightly and the dizziness began to fade in a hurry as the badly needed dose of pure sugar rushed off to repair damage in his systems. He blinked the spice induced tears out of his eyes and stared at Celia, his shock must have been written on his face.

Celia grinned slightly around her own clenched teeth and lifted her eyebrows once. Dean felt his face work into a smile to match hers, every ounce of charm and ease flushing back to him for a long second. Celia felt her heart lurch painfully once then settle again. There was the Dean that she saw sleeping in a pool of sun shine.

Sam relaxed and refused to acknowledge either of them. Knowing it would only shatter the very small bubble of ease that had settled between his brother and Celia. Sam licked contentedly at his own comb of wild honey, savoring the taste and the rush of sugar the pep up his system, and smugly telling himself that it was the first time that Dean and Celia had really smiled at each other.

That he knew of, he'd been a bit busy with Cottoneye Cloud to pay attention to private riding lesson Celia had given Dean and the small assuring smiles passed between them.

But Sam of course liked to have the chance to be silently smug, what exactly he was smug about in particular escaped him; just felt kind of smug and he went with it.

Buckshot was looking between the three riders, licking sticky teeth and lips and hoping for a dropped break of their combs.

"Whats that weird taste?" Sam asked casually after a minuet.

Celia broke her eye contact with Dean and twisted around to look at Sam. Dean's eyes dropped somewhat sheepishly and he tried hard to drudge up hate and anger but all he could feel were hunger pains and blind gratefulness that Celia had done something to abate that, even if it only made him hungrier.

"Cactus." Celia muttered, pulling the comb out her mouth briefly. "The bees make most of the honey out of cactus blossoms."

"Beautiful." Dean muttered, his word muffled around the comb, he shifted it around to find a new place to tap the wild honey. Celia smiled, slightly shook out her hand and then bent low and held it out towards Blackbird. The stallion snorted and sniffed, twisting his head around. His thick tongue rolled out and licked across her palm and wrist. Lapping up the residue of honey from her skin.

"Be sweet to yer horses, they're doing all the walkin'." Celia advised casually to the two Winchesters. Sam immediately mimicked her and held out and down his honey streaked hand to Widowmaker. The mare snorted happily and licked between his fingers. Dean reluctantly held out his palm towards Chambeau, the mare twisted around and sniffed his hand once but jerked her head back with an indigent snort and pinned her ears.

"Chambeau's a bayou girl, she likes spice over sweet." Celia advised and nudged Blackbird over into towards Dean and Chambeau's side, she rooted around into his saddle bag, after a second she came up with a piece of pale colored root and she broke off a bit. She held it out to Dean who took it without hesitation, glad to have something to reward the mare with other than his cache of honey.

"Ginger." Celia said. Dean bent low over Chambeau's shoulder and held out the ginger root. The mare swung her head around and sniffed it for a second then daintily nipped it out of his fingers and crunched it down happily, tossing her head with each cut of her teeth, the mare nickered and licked her teeth, grinning around her bit.

"Freak horse." Sam muttered, "I hate ginger." The younger Winchester obscenely dragged his tongue over the comb.

"Smells good though." Celia muttered.

"I'm starving." Dean muttered, he looked ready to take a bite clean out of the comb. His stomach twisting and jerking dangerously.

"I bet." Celia reached around with her horse tongue cleaned hand and dug in her pack, she came up with a large red and yellow spectacled apple, clenching her teeth on the comb she pulled out her bone hilt knife and sliced it then handed a third to Sam and a third to Dean. The elder Winchester took it without question or hesitation. Celia slipped her knife back into its sheath and pulled the comb out of her mouth.

"These apples are desert grown, too." She informed then and rubbed the white flesh side of her third over the surface of the comb then took a bite out of the apple.

Dean and Sam mimicked her.

"Mother of God." Sam moaned.

"Son of a bitch." Dean practically purred.

Buckshot whined, licking his jaws and looking at them expectantly with a soft whine.

"Yeah, I know." Celia sniffed and crunched another bite out of her apple. The three of them let out a snicker all at once, like a group of kids that had nicked a treat right out from under their parents. Everything that left tension between them was briefly and blissfully forgotten. Food, especially good food had always been a healer of the heart and scarred bonds. Dean's distrust, Celia's frustration and Sam's agitation at the invisible chain of tension that was locked and hung around Dean and Celia's necks.

Sam had faint hope it was gone entirely, but he knew there was no such luck in the world.

"What are we doing here?" He asked, taking the last bite of his apple and licking the surface of the comb for good measure.

"Honey break." Celia sniffed, crunching the last of her apple. "We've got five more hours and it's going to rain."

Dean and Sam looked up at the sky. They hadn't been taking notice of the cracks of thunder and strikes of lightening for almost four hours. Sort of the same way that you forget you're listening to a song until the last few cords remind you suddenly of its existence. The sky looked suddenly dangerous and hateful, practically growling at them with the steel blue colored clouds streaked in black. Cutting against the darkened clouds was the black shape of a bird, a crow, it circled once then dipped to land gracefully on the uppermost branches of a knarled tree, it cocked its head and looked down at them; Dean watched with interest for a second as the bird croaked. Dean didn't notice that Celia saw the bird as well, glared at it briefly and made a sweep with her hand. With the turn of her hand the crow launched back into the air and dipped out of sight in the tree line.

The sky sent a chill running down Dean's spine but he hid it well enough.

But the chill didn't just strike the elder brother, a sharp wind was starting to kick up and it had a low chill from the near by mountain ridges.

Dean tried to draw his attention away from the sky by putting all his effort into getting every last drop of honey out of the comb. His stomach did a small twist and Dean shifted unsettled in the saddle, he swallowed thickly.

"My stomach hurts." He muttered.

"Yer shockin' yer system, it got used to not eatin'." Celia said quietly. "Take it slow, but ya do need the food. Here." Celia, reached into her saddle bag and dug out a smooth leather pouch, tightly wrapped around the top with a strip of leather, she handed it to him. Dean shifted it around in his palm; it felt like it was full of very brittle rocks. He looked up at her questioningly.

"Sweet trail mix. Crystallized honey, molasses sugared apples and dried bananas and apricots. Make it last and share with yer brother." Celia advised and motioned toward Sam who smiled smugly. "It ought to do the trick of puttin' ya back on track."

"Thanks ." Dean muttered quietly.

"Sure, ya gotta vomit just lean far off of Chambeau's side." Celia shrugged and Sam snickered. Dean glared passed Celia as Sam, made a show of using his teeth to untangle the leather tie, shift the pouch open and clenching his teeth around his honey comb dug out a dried apricot and with expert maneuvering was able to pop it into his mouth with out dropping the leather pouch or honeycomb. Sam sniffed as if he hadn't taken notice. There was a peaceful minuet that came to a screeching halt.

"Boys…"

The way she said it straightened the Winchester's spines and they stiffened. Buckshot noticed this instantly and bristled, he growled quietly at both brothers and tensed, fur raising on his hackles.

"…as much as I didn't want ya along, I'm glad yer here." Celia sighed, inspecting her piece of honeycomb for a second. Dean was as tight as a kite string watching her out of the corner of his eyes, wariness flushing his systems. Hunter's caution. "I need yer boys' help." Celia finally bit out.

"With what?" Dean asked defensively, his stomach was starting to churn and sent little sparks of pain across his gut.

"One of my horses is missin'." Celia said, she looked up at Dean with some clear nervousness and fear in her eyes and on the edge of her voice. Earlier that day Dean may have felt an explosive need to assure her and promise all his help but at the moment all he could do was bristle and want to bare his teeth.

"He didn't come in with the rest of the herd. I figure he just decided to have himself a romp with the 'stangs. Or he's dead. I just want to find him tonight, we have a good chance here with at herd not a quarter mile off."

"How do you know there's a herd near by?" Sam asked quietly.

"I can…um…I can hear 'em and smell 'em…" Celia muttered and flinched inwardly as Dean's eyes flashed dangerously and narrowed.

"_Smell_ them?" Dean growled. Celia bristled but reined in her defensive remark.

"I told ya I have a good nose."

"Another 'little thing' you can do?" Dean snapped.

Celia snorted in frustration and decided to ignore Dean and twisted around to look at a more receptive and accepting Sam. "Look, can I count on y'all to help me out with this? I've had this horse for ten years _and_ he's an import. I don't want to loose him, even if it means draggin' his carcass back tonight."

"What the matter, you can hear and smell better than perfect, can't you spot him on your own?" Dean snarled, annoyed that Celia had so blatantly set him aside.

"Actually my eyesight is shit." Celia growled back. "I'm half blind in my left. So if I can count on ya that ya will help me look for him and let me know ya spotted him instead of keepin' it to yerself outta spite I would be grateful for the help!"

"We'd be glad to give it!" Dean barked back.

"Thanks!" Celia snarled.

"You're welcome!" Dean practically roared.

Sam did a double take, his head already starting to throb. Did that count as an argument? Buckshot pinned his ears and whined stiffly, ears cocked back.

"Celia, what do you mean 'imported'?" Sam asked as the two seethed and bared teeth at each other.

Celia snorted at Dean and twisted around to look at Sam. "He's foreign, a cross. Half Brumby and half Australian Stock Horse. Shipped to America from the outback deserts when he was a few months old. Got him by accident when I was fifteen. He's a good horse, I want him back."

"Australian. Brumby is an Australian mustang, right?" Sam muttered quietly unsure where he knew the information from, Celia nodded and Dean glared at him. "What's he look like?"

"Big, bigger than most 'stangs. And he's a cremello." Celia pressed, "Names Honeycatcher."

"Cremello?" Dean muttered. Celia twisted her head just slightly and looked at him out of her eye.

"Real pale palomino. Practically white, a cream color, his nose is pink and he's got pale brown eyes. He stands out like crazy not hard to miss. A good whistle will bring him in. If ya see him stretched out dead just point him out."

Dean and Sam were silent for a long minuet and Celia swallowed dryly. She really did need their help. Startling a mustang herd that the cremello was visiting could send them all galloping off in fear and drag her Aussie pony well out of her reach. She needed them.

"Boys, please?" Celia pleaded, not having to swallow her pride like she did when she normally asked for help. There was no pride in the loss of a good horse.

"Sure we'll look for him." Sam assured her. Celia nodded, giving the younger Winchester an appreciative half smile then cleared her throat loudly rolled back her shoulders and tossed her spent honey comb into the saw-grass.

She reached around and flipped open one of her saddle bags. She dug into the leather pack and pulled out a folded square or dark red plastic. She shook it out into a rain slicker.

"You're going to put that on now?" Dean asked with a snort.

"Better now when I'm dry than later and half soaked." Celia said wisely, pulled off her Stetson, giving the brothers a full view of the dried blood colored horns growing at her hair line. She set the brown hat snugly on Blackbird's poll. The mustang's ears swayed out sideways casually and waited patiently as Celia pulled the slicker over her head and pushed her arms through. The sleeves where a few inches to long and rested well passed her wrists and the torso settled long and low around her hips. She reached up and zipped the slicker a little higher. Celia pulled the band out of her ponytail. She shook her hair out, ruffling, then gathering it up into a high messy bun on the back of her skull well off of her neck. Celia lifted her hat from between Blackbird's ears and set it snuggly back on her skull, low around her ears. Celia motioned towards their saddle bags and the two Winchesters found their own squares of plastic that shook out the rain slickers. Both a universal size and fit easily with Sam in blue and Dean in a muddy yellow color. Sam shrugged his on and Dean draped his across the front of the saddle and didn't bother with it, but the brothers kept their eyes on Red, particularly her skull, Sam reluctantly fit his light brown Stetson back on.

Sam and Dean were slightly unnerved at how easy it was to actually hide the horns under a simple hat. And the bandanna. Dean had confronted Celia when she only wore a bandanna and he had been unsure until he had pulled the bandanna off.  
"Red-"

"Yeah?" Celia sniffed, cutting Dean off sharply, even dangerously. Dean bristled.

"How did you hide your horns so long?" Dean snapped. "Didn't anyone ever notice?" He almost slapped on "you're a freak" at the end but held it back.

"Cain't a girl keep her secrets?" Celia snarked back almost emotionlessly. "Next yer gonna ask me my weight and wither I prefer boxers or briefs."

"Red." Sam's tone was of a judge and mediator. Sam suddenly knew what it must have been like for Dean breaking up him and their father for years. It was driving Sam insane and giving him a horrible migraine. How had his elder brother dealt with it so well? Sam pushed all his meaning in into his warning of Celia's nickname. He also pressed his own curiosity, he was asking the same question mentally.

"I didn't." Celia bit out.

That little response gave Sam a single blinding insight. For some reason the younger Winchester had a sway over Celia. Every time they interacted she had a "Dean-like" attitude about know what was wrong with him and fixing it or preventing it. Like an older sister Dean. Sam internally broke into a fit of hysterical laughter that he choked on to keep in check at the mental image of Dean in a dress. Sam shook himself and returned to his theories. Evidently the whole 'gotta-take-care-of-Sam' mindset evidently entailed that Sam had a 'baby brother' influence that made the elder want to do everything they could to make him happy and keep him safe. He'd taken a few psychology classes at Stanford, he could read the signs. Saw them in Dean all the time. It was almost like she was trying to appease him. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. This sudden realization of leverage over the red eyed woman made Sam swell, just slightly and he immediately decided not to abuse it, and being naturally curious he wanted to know why.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked lightly, making sure his epiphany was well away from his voice.

"I didn't, never thought to hide 'em. Everyone has their own opinion but I've had 'em since I was a pup, too young to care and everyone I grew up with doesn't care anymore."

"You don't hide them at all?" Dean asked with some mild shock.

"Why? Everyone knows well enough that I'm ashamed of 'em, why bother?" Celia sniffed bitterly.

"Aren't they uncomfortable?" Sam asked before Dean could mount an argument against Celia.

"Sam, ya should have seen 'em 'bout a year ago. Grown all the way out and around my ear." Celia motioned with her hand in a curved around the side of her head.

"_Grown?_ They _grew_?" Sam asked.

"Grow." Celia corrected.

"_Grow_?" Dean growled.

"Still, like a buck's rack save there ain't a shed season. More like a big horn." Celia said nonchalantly.

"They're shorter than a goat's." Sam pressed.

"Shorn 'em."

"You cut them back?" Sam practically gasped, staring at her. Celia blushed slightly.

"It's embarassin'." She muttered tightly and with a click and the pressure her knees into Blackbird's sides the mustang broke into a smooth trot away from them. Buckshot growled at them and broke into a gallop to catch and keep up with Celia and the buckskin mustang.

Sam drooped a little and looked at Dean, the younger brother started slightly as the look on Dean's face. It was sharp, calculating, like he was measuring the distance and conditions of an important shot.

"Dean, no-"

But Chambeau turned sharply on her heel at Dean's command, loped up to pace at Blackbird's side.

"Dean!" Sam barked and rushed to catch up; he only got a glance back but nothing more than that.

"Red-"

"Dean, just leave me alone, please." Celia sighed tiredly, "I've had enough, just find someone else to beat up on for while."

Dean's jaw snapped shut, staring at her. He'd never been told to just quit. There always seemed to be one more remark, one more insult. Buckshot growled warningly at him and Dean glared at the dog but said nothing. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean looked down at the nearly spent honey comb in his hand and just dropped it to the earth. Sam tossed his into the dirt behind them, both boys rubbing their hands on their jeans legs.

The saw-grass bled out into short grass and desert scrubs and trees died out all together. The Owyhee Desert was more of a rolling prairie than a true desert, vast, stretching for a hundred miles in all directions until in the north became Idaho and Oregon, in the west the Santa Rosa Range and in the south the Tuscarora Mountains and Shoshone Range, with nothing to break the horizon but distant blue rock mountains. Green, nothing but untouched green, it clumped up around the horses' heels as they trotted casually up the slight slope. Buckshot bounded almost business like a head, sniffing and tracking silently to himself.

Widowmaker and Sam trotted up swiftly on Dean's open side and he reached out and grabbed Chambeau's reins pulling her back slightly. Celia didn't even glance at him as the buckskin mustang continued passed them. Sam waited a second making somewhat sure that Celia wasn't listening to them.

"Dean, lay off her." Sam whispered. "Just leave her alone."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, said nothing and shoved Sam's hands away from Chameau's reins to fall into line behind Celia.

Blackbird walked strongly up the slope of a small ridge for a mile and half and stopped as he broke over the top of the ridge, Chambeau and Widowmaker trotting a few paces to stand on the old stallion's sides. Buckshot out front, loping a head like a beacon.

The ridge sloped down into the same desert growth and shrub. Nothing overly extraordinary about it, Celia was scanning the slopes around them.

"Omani." She muttered, the two Winchesters looked up.

Standing on an opposing ridge was a mustang. The animal's head was flung up and eyes looking dead at them. The mustang was large from what they could see from several hundred yards away, pale dun colored with dark eyes and a dark dorsal stripe.

Blackbird threw up his head and whinnied loudly.

The mustang's ears slung forward and whinnied back. But the noise sounded tired, strained. The caramel and black shepherd cocked his ears forward and looked around for the noise, finally spotting the horse on the distant ridge. Celia's face knit with sudden worry at Omani's voice and tone.

"What's the matter Omani?" She asked herself. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and Blackbird broke into a heated trot towards the mustang Omani, Buckshot on his heels.

The dun twisted his ears back and shifted nervously at the approach but stayed where he was for a minuet, before turning and trotting over the ridge and out of sight. The dun recognized the buckskin and the female rider but the males were strangers and while no man had done harm to his herd yet he couldn't trust strangers in the darks days that had come down on his kind.

Blackbird's trot broke into a dangerous downward gallop and the dog sprinted to keep up but easily stayed at his side. Sam and Dean following on his heels at a slower pace. In the basin of the slope Blackbird's speed doubled and he sprinted up the slope again mounted the ridge and down out of sight. Sam and Dean tried to get Widowmaker and Chambeau to quicken up but the two mares were mustang bred, not raised out in the deserts and they knew the value of a slow pace and the pain of falling with a reckless rider. They kept their easy lopes and ignored the brothers.

Breaking over the ridge the two mares were glad that they had taken their time because over the ridge they needed every ounce of strength they had. The mares dropped into the valley at a break neck gallop, almost throwing off Sam and Dean in their run, kicking up rock and dust. They whinnied sharply for Blackbird to slow down. The buckskin whinnied back loudly but tore full out down the ridge chasing the dun Omani under Celia's hand. Blackbird outstripped and cut out in front of Omani, forcing the dun to skid to stop. Buckshot ducking around the other side to block Omani from diving sideways.

The mustang shied back a step and away from Blackbird and Celia but didn't make a second break.

Seeing Blackbird stopped the two mares slowed down, again upsetting the Winchester's balances and nearly unseating them.

Snarling at the mares the boys tried to focus, it looked like Celia was having a conversation with the dun mustang. Omani shifted nervously and cast a few looks back at the brothers as they approached but didn't try and break away. Blackbird and Omani were tossing their heads, snorting and kicking their hooves.

Omani swung his head around and touched noses with Blackbird.

Suddenly the dun dashed around Blackbird, the buckskin turned on his heels and loped at the dun's side out across the belly off the valley, Celia pulled back and down on the reins and sitting back in the saddle, Blackbird checked his pace, trotted around a curve back towards the Winchesters and mares. Buckshot stayed in his place until Blackbird came even with him then turned and bounded along side the stallion back to Sam and Dean. Chambeau and Widowmaker slowed down drastically until they were practically walking. Blackbird trotted up and Celia looked slightly upset. Over head there was a beginning fall of rain. Dean reached for the yellow slicker and struggled to fit it on, throwing the borrowed Stetson in frustration and Celia caught it easily, handing it back when Dean finally zipped the slicker the rest of the way up to his throat and he reluctantly settled it back over his hair.

"Red?" Sam asked, "What-"

"Wolves and puma, track all over the place. Look over yer shoulders. Especially ya Sam, Widowmaker's a cougar killer. She'll run at one instead of away from one." Celia reached around to the lantern strapped to her saddle and twisted the bulb within into place. The bulb was dull for a few long seconds then grew, giving off a warm, pale glow that would get stronger as the clouds closed and deepened with the natural night. Dean and Sam mimicked and a strong pool of dim light circled the ground around the horses' hooves and shining off of Buckshot's back, the light still dull.

Celia glanced over her own shoulder at the retreating Omani, "C'mon." She urged slightly and clicked her tongue. Blackbird broke into an extended trot in the same direction that Omani had gone.

"Red, would a mountain lion honestly try and come after someone on horse back?" Sam asked, disbelieving.

"Four months ago, no." Celia muttered over her shoulder. Dean fell into pace next Celia, Sam with Buckshot on his left behind. Celia braced for Dean to go after her.

But no onslaught came and she relaxed after a few minuets. Dean hadn't spoken for nearly forty-five minuets but she wasn't going to push him. The flat stretch of terrain was easy on the horses and they crossed the belly of that particular valley without much strain. Blackbird's pace checked as they reached the edge of the plateau and Celia reached around into her saddle bag. She came up with a small leather book and a thick ink pen. She tucked the pen behind her ear and sat back, stopping Blackbird all together with the shift in her weight. As soon as the horses stopped Buckshot dropped back onto his haunches and panted.

Dean and Sam looked down over the plateau and looked down on Omani's herd. Omani stood halfway down the ridge like a sentinel, jerked his head around and pinned his ears. Snorting warningly and trotted down the rest of slope into the mass of horse below. There had to have been thirty animals or more, all shifting, tossing their heads and speaking to each other in their own language.

"Two, six, ten, fourteen…"

They looked around at Celia, her eyes roaming over the herd and counting under her breath, she muttered quietly and in the last of the light, muttered a final number and wrote it down in the book.

"How many?" Sam asked, the rain starting to pick up enough that the brothers could hear it tapping lightly on the brims of their hats and on their shoulders.

"Thirty two. He gained a few…" She muttered hopefully and looked out across the shifting backs settling in the lee of the plateau for the night.

"I don't see Honeycatcher." Sam muttered.

Dean started, he'd already forgotten and quickly scanned the animals, looking for Celia's lost Aussie. There were a few light colored horses but none of them exactly matched what Celia had said to look for.

"Hold on." Celia muttered and let out an ear splitting whistle. The three horses they rode and the German Shepherd's heads jerked up sharply ears throwing forward at the noise. Omani's mustangs jerked and jumped aside as one, like a flock of massive birds they lunged a few long strides a head before settling, but many sharp eyes and head were flung up and towards the two brothers and Celia, looking for danger. Celia slumped a little when no returning nicker or break from the herd came back to answer her. She clicked her tongue and tugged Blackbird's reins. The mustang swung around and followed the edge of the plateau away from Omani's shifting and nervous herd. Sam steered Widowmaker to follow on her heels, Buckshot climbing to his paws to follow Widowmaker. Dean looked at the mustangs for a few extra seconds. He could see desperately thin animals, some marked by the pains of fire or predators. They looked like startled children. Waiting for someone to help them. Dean swallowed thickly and turned Chambeau around to follow his brother and Celia. Unnerved Dean pressed his knees into Chambeau's sides and trotted the mare up passed Sam and up to Blackbird's side. Sam sighed but didn't try to pry his elder brother from Celia's side. Celia was tucking the leather bound book under her slicker and shirt and tucked the pen behind her ear.

"How's yer stomach?" She asked without looking at him.

"Alright." Dean muttered stiffly back, the first he'd spoken in over and hour. "Hurts."

"Don't quit eatin'. Just take it slow."

"How sick was I?" he asked.

Celia went over the fevers and nightmares, the congested breathing that still hadn't left him, all dangerous brushes with death added to the symptoms of drug withdrawal.

"Sick." She said. Dean sighed, his stomach was twisting painfully but hunger had gotten the better of him and he dug into the leather pouch for a molasses sugared slice of apple. He had a hard time swallowing it but his stomach didn't reject it. Buckshot whined down on the earth and Dean dug out another slice of apple and tossed it to him. The dog caught and crunched down the candied fruit without hesitation and wagged his tail briefly at Dean in thanks.

"I don't trust you." Dean muttered.

"I'm aware." Celia replied.

"Can I?"

"Ask yerself." Celia sighed and tucked her chin down and in so the rain wouldn't come down on her face or into her shirt. Dean hesitated.

"How much more?"

"Eighty-five miles." Celia muttered, as she spoke the rain picked up again and became a steady drizzle. Dean nodded slightly and looked over to see Widowmaker and Sam press up on his other side; sandwiching him between Celia and his younger brother; Dean felt Chambeau shift over a step closer to Blackbird until Dean and Celia's legs where brushing with each passed step. The three riders and three horses bowed their heads and walked on determinedly in the rain along the ridge. They neither spoke, acted or reacted towards each other until the bone rattling howl of wolves rose from to close for comfort. Buckshot growled and bristled protectively and pressed close to Widowmaker and Sam's sides.

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**Mmm…honey…lotsa Sam in the next chapter, I think. Read and Review please!**


	16. Cynophobia

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! YA ROCK, DARLIN'!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Sixteen: Cynophobia**

**"There is no silver bullet and frankly you probably don't need one. It is far more important to be able to find the right kind of gun, be able to load the gun...and perhaps more importantly, be able to figure out where the werewolf is..."**

**-Matthew Oliphant**

**…**

For three miles Sam shivered. But the howling got louder and more demanding and Sam's shiver intensified at the fourth mile close and the fifth began. It ran from the surface of his skin down his spine and sank into his muscles, then deeper still into his bones. Until Sam Winchester was shaking almost uncontrollably. The younger Winchester was shaking so hard in the saddle that it threw Widowmaker off her steps and the ebony mare pinned her ears and nickered nervously.

Sam cast his eyes around in the dark, the harrowing voices of wolves seemed to drown out coherent thought. Sam shrank down on himself, hugging the blue slicker into his frame. Normally steady and intelligent chocolate eyes were shaded with instinctual fear.

"Dean?" Sam chattered out, nervousness spiking his voice. Dean twisted around to look at his brother, startled by the undertone of nervous fear in his voice. It was the same spiky tone that for years had asked where John went almost every night and why they had to keep moving. It moved something that rested strongly in Dean's big brother instinct.

And it touched Celia, too. She was an elder sister herself.

Celia tugged back on Blackbird's reins and sat back in her saddle seat. Blackbird snorted and went from the steady walk forward to an instant reverse and side stepped over. Snorted, twisted his aged joints in a way that would leave him sore and stepped back up on Widowmaker's far side and successfully sandwiching Sam between Dean and Celia.

"Sam?" Dean asked sharply, forgetting his hunger pains and the ache in his joints and under his ribs.

"Dean, they're way to close." Sam muttered, eyes wildly searching through the drizzling rainfall and the dark.

A harrowing howl rippled over their skin and rattled their nerves. Even Dean was starting to feel nervous. Usually Sam was the steady one, settled into a smooth groove and couldn't be shaken from his footing. But this, this was worse fear than what he had seen Sam feel when with clowns. Dean had always had a suspicion that Sam had a fear of wolves but it had gone unfounded.

As a child Sam had been fascinated with _canis lupus_, taking out books at libraries and gathering enough information to supersede an expert on the species. Dean remembered as a child he had loved to hear the simple stories like Red Riding Hood or Three Little Pigs or any other Brother's Grimm story with a wolf in it, as he had gotten more and more in depth in the nature of wolves he had begun to scoff and make small comments about how 'a wolf would never do that'. Sam would badger their father for explicit details on how John handled lycanthrope Hunts. It had been almost obsessive.

Then one day it just stopped. Suddenly Sam shied at the idea of wolves and refused to hear any story concerning a wolf, didn't want to talk about them or watch nature shows about them and one day came home rattled from a school assembly where a zoo keeper had come with several large predatory animals including a baby bear, puma cub, a bobcat and of course a full grown wolf.

Sam absolutely refused to return to that particular school.

All the little drawings, any books he had for himself, even a stuffed wolf had been destroyed or hidden in a motel room to be purposefully left behind. Sam never openly spoke about wolves again until Madison. And the trauma of that event rattled him once again into silence about the whole subject. Dean still had no memory of what had triggered the sudden phobia and even paranoia then they were working in known wolf territory.

Sam felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable with nothing but a horse between him and the ground.

Buckshot was growling softly and protectively, dark eyes flying around in the dark to pin point any wolf that was to close.

"Sam," Dean tried to sooth but Sam shivering and his sharp mind was starting to fog with unease.

"They're to close." Sam muttered, panicking.

A howl split the air at the same time a crack of lightening and roar of thunder did and it tore Sam's usually steel nerves all the way through. He yanked back hard on Widowmarker's reins and the mare jumped, startled at the sudden command and found the only way to follow it was plant her hooves and rear halfback. Chambeau lunged aside trying to get away and got kicked in the shoulder, Widowmaker's fore hoof grazing across Dean's knee. Blackbird jerked his head back and whinnied sharply as Widowmarker tipped sideways and slammed into his shoulder and crushed Celia's sore left leg and knee between the half ton animals. Celia bit back a snarl of pain and used her hands to shove back on Widowmaker's neck and shoulder. Successfully getting herself and Blackbird away from the animal as well as stopping the black mare from falling backwards on top of Sam and probably breaking his neck if not killing him. Panic stricken Sam was unaware of the danger he was putting himself as well as the horse into.

Chambeau was tossing her head and pawing at the damp earth snorting and kicking out nervously.

Widowmaker was trying to keep her hooves on the earth but Sam's fear was making the mare nervous and she was starting to kick up her heels in intention to throw Sam off and be rid of him.

Buckshot whined and barked nervously, dodging out of the way of crashing horse hooves and desperately avoiding being crushed.

"Sam." Celia said, her voice the same steady calm used on a nervous colt when she was starting him. "Sam, steady up, Sammy." Celia ordered.

She reached out and grabbed Widowmaker's reins and pulled her into Blackbird's side, steadying the mare and getting Sam close enough to touch him. She looped the reins around her saddle horn and rested a steady hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing until the pressure was enough for the young man to flinch and look at her.

"Steady, Sammy." She ordered quietly, "Calm down."

Sam was shaking nervously under her hand and shifting uncertainly in the saddle, he was refusing to settle.

Dean finally got Chambeau under control enough to slide the mare up protectively on Sam's other side.

"Sam clam down." Dean pressed gently, trying to help but allow Celia to finish what she started, his distrust fading briefly then returning full force and he pressed closer. He didn't know how safe Sam was with Celia so close, much less when he was spooked like this.

Sam was shaking his head and trying to look around them for any signs of wolves, he heart hitched and he tried to jerk away from Celia and Dean when his eyes caught the smooth rolling back of a large grey wolf. The flash of pale fur against the darkness was there for a few seconds, a pair of yellow eyes flashing at him then gone, broken and lost in the drizzle and shadows.

"Dean!" Sam barked in fear.

"Sam." Celia cut Dean off before he could respond and her hand went from Sam's shoulder to the back of Sam's neck. Her palm rested comfortingly on his spine. The warmth of her hand sank into the cold and rain spattered flesh if his neck settling the heat between them as she moved her hand slowly and soothingly across Sam's neck. The younger Winchester focused on her, shivering unconsciously. Dean was gritting his teeth nervously, somewhere in his extremely imaginative mind he pictured Celia sinking her nails into Sam's neck like claws and tearing out his spine.

"Sam, steady little brother." She coaxed gently, never loosing her patience or calm, keeping Sam's wild eyes on her by giving him a small shake every time he looked away.

Then Dean's hand rested on his opposing shoulder.

Sam slumped, practically collapsing down into the saddle and shivered more in stress and trauma than fear. He breathed out heavily and coughed a few times, feeling Celia's hand lighten pressure on his neck but Dean's grip increase on his shoulder.

"Breathe Sam." Celia soothed. Sam took a shaky, almost broken breath trying to fill his lungs, they ached and felt starved in his small episode of fear. Sam's head hung forward and he let tremors run over his frame, his heart starting to slow down until he was the only one that heard or felt the rattling thumping against his ribs.

Chambeau snorted quietly and draped her head across the front of Sam's saddle and practically over Sam's lap. Buckshot reared up on his legs and braced his fore paws on Widowmaker's side and pushed his nose against Sam's knee and below. The canine intrusion startled Sam slightly but he settled just as quickly and he pried his hand away from the grip on the saddle horn and rested his large, shaking palm on Buckshot's neck.

Sam let out a pained and shaky breath. He felt safe, for the first time in a long time. The large horses around him, the dog, the steady hands of his brother and the experienced rancher created a small pocket of warmth. Protected, nothing to hear but the beating of hearts, even breathing and the consistent drizzle of rain off of their hats, slickers and soaked jeans. Sam's stomach settled then twisted into a rock. Embarrassment flushed Sam's face and he hid behind his lashes, rain water flowing over his neck and Celia's hand, the cold of it moderating the heat between their skin.

"Sorry…" Sam muttered, trying to hide in plain view and berating himself for being so rattled in front of them. "I just…"

"Sam, just don't scare the hell outta us like that again." Celia pressed gently, squeezing his neck. Sam glanced up at them, looking between Celia and Dean. They were both pale, draw and looked fearful for Sam's life. Dean had that same sorrowful look on his face anytime that Sam clammed up and Celia was looking at him like a horse caught in a barbed wire fence.

"Sorry."

"We're a pack, Sam. They don't like it when strange predators come into their territory." Celia soothed, keeping her hand steady on his neck. Sam nodded in understanding.

"We're a pack." He muttered and felt Dean's hand tighten on his shoulder.

"They want to shake us up like this, scare us, keep us away or make us vulnerable enough to kill." Celia kept her voice steady and low, stopping briefly as a baritone howl rose from somewhere near by on the left. Sam shivered violently but he felt comforted when a small tremor flowed through Celia. He felt her shiver in her hand. It was the same as his, bred out of fear. Experienced fear.

"You okay?" Dean asked, more the both of them than just his brother.

Sam nodded tiredly and Celia only glanced up at him.

"Sam." Dean cleared his throat and Sam looked up at him, "Sam, why did that spook you?"

Sam dipped his head again in shame and swallowed thickly. Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze and a little shake.

"Sam, why are you afraid of wolves?"

Sam refused to speak or look at them. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, a child-like response to a seemingly child-like phobia.

Dean sighed and sat back a little in his saddle, not letting go of his little brother's shoulder. Leave it to super-genius Sam to be afraid of things like clowns and wolves, next it'll be the dentist. Dean couldn't really complain or judge much, he had his thing with planes. And rats, oh he hated rats.

"Sam ya aren't the only one that's ever been scared of wolves." Celia said gently. "There are more people afraid of wolves than there are people spooked by guns or water or anything else like that."

Sam looked up at her for a second and Celia licked her lips.

"I mean goddamnit Sam, I cain't handle heights." Celia tried, she caught a shift of movement out of the corner of her eye and twisted to look warningly into the dark. "Not since I was fifteen." She almost growled, her eyes following something in the dark that Dean and Sam couldn't see. It put the elder brother on edge but Sam just stayed still and quiet.

"Such a coward…" Sam muttered under his breath and it took Dean a second to realize that Sam was talking about himself, not Celia.

"Sam it's good to have some fear like this, keeps ya grounded." Celia pressed. "Makes ya stronger and steadier, a better person. Yer anythin' but a coward. Cowards are ones that never try and say they're fearless."

"Red's right, Sam." Dean pressed, there really wasn't much more he could add to what she had said, he was sure it would have only cheapened it and while a laugh went a long way with the younger Winchester now wasn't the time.

Sam took a deep, shaking breath and let it out with a croak of a little laugh. He nodded and sat up straight. Sam rolled his shoulders back shaking off Dean, Celia's hand slid from the back of his neck down to his collar bone. She gave the base of his throat a light squeeze of assurance then let her hand fall away, she unwound the reins from her saddle horn as Sam picked them back up. The younger Winchester rubbed his hand lightly down Chambeau's muzzle before the mare pulled her head up and away and Buckshot dropped back down to the earth and sat on his haunches.

"Thanks." Sam muttered rubbing his hands over his face and clearing his throat loudly. He jumped when a new, deep bellied howl rattled loudly around them but he swallowed thickly and controlled his nervousness as best he could.

"Red." Sam licked his lips and cast his eyes down, trying not to look at her.

"Yeah, Sam?" She said distractedly, her eyes were roving in the dark searching for something, either a sign of assurance or damnation. She was looking for a certain wolf. A recognizable animal that would make it clear if they were safe or walking on thin ice and needed to get far from this place as possible.

"You're not ugly."

Celia's brow knit, her eyes clouded with confusion as she twisted to give him her full attention. "Um…yeah, thanks, Sam." She responded, giving one shoulder a shrug.

"You aren't. Not matter what Dubois says." Sam assured. Celia's face scrunched then lit in understanding and softened again in pure affection.

"Thanks, Sam." She patted his thigh lightly, "Yer a good kid."

Sam smiled briefly at her before it faded.

"Lets get goin', we're gonna run late." Celia clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and squeezed her knees. Sam and Dean both jumped out of their skins at the sharp yelp of pain. Celia's teeth clenched and her face contorted in agony. Out on the flat land any howl was silenced instantly.

"Red?" Sam asked, his panic rising sharply again. She only growled low in her throat, eyes watering and she curled up on herself. She shivered violently and gasped wetly after a few seconds.

"Red." Sam's command for her to respond was laden in her name.

"My knee." She muttered thickly. She reached down and gingerly touched the joint and hissed in pain.

"What happened?" Dean asked, a sore spot spiking in his gut. A small tinge of quilt in the midst of his wariness. He'd still been the one to aggravate the old injury in the first place.

Celia waved him off and wrapped her hand tightly around the joint, hissing and growling in pain.

"Red." Sam pressed, twitching when a crack of lightening split the dark.

"When the horses acted up, something happened! What?!" Dean was practically ordering Celia to speak.

"Shut up, Winchester!" Celia snapped, her voice a hoarse whisper. It startled both young men. "Just shut up."

A low rattling growl agreed with her, the three riders tensed as a massive wolf stalked into their pool of light, lips curled back and curved yellowed teeth bared the animal skirted the edges of the light. The wolf had to have been twice its breeds normal size, out weighing Buckshot by a hundred pounds. The fur was coarse and twisted into wet ropes from the rain, the pale under fur knotting around the dark brown and red fur of the outer coat. The animal only had a single yellow eye, the other was marred by scar tissue, the pupil and cornea milk white with damage and a cataract.

"Kaneonuskatew." Celia breathed thickly.

The wolf's ears pinned back and it growled, the massive throat vibrating loudly. Muzzle crinkling and making the countless little scars and nicks in its hide stand out. Blackbird stepped back and across, putting himself between Chambeau and Widowmaker and the wolf.

Widowmaker pulled at her bit and jerked forward a step as if to charge the wolf, pinning her ears and snorting loudly.

Celia bared her teeth at Kaneonuskatew, she hissed, bristling and for all the world a mountain lion trapped in human form. Kaneonuskatew glared at her through his one yellow eye then looked passed her straight at Sam. The wolf panted heavily, chest heaving, a wild rage and blood lust trapped in its gaze.

The vision slammed into Sam mercilessly, it was stronger and heavier and more violent than any yet to date.

_Wolf's jaws flung open and lunged at him in a sea of red water or blood. Two hateful yellow eyes blinked into one. The roar of a river twisted and corrupted into a howl between the staggered, striped walls of a canyon, the sky high above twisted into black clouds of unshed rain. Blood drenched fur and Dean drowning in water with an animal ripping out his throat. The howling became a scream, echoing like fire off the inside of his skull. Dean's mouth opened in a silent scream, a bubble expanded at his lips and burst in a new river of blood, instead of flowing out into the river poured down his chin and jaw and stained across the muzzle and eyes of the animal shaking his jugular veins and windpipe. Sam could hear the animal grinding its teeth through the cartilage of Dean's voice box. Sam gasped and choked, his back arching unnaturally as it seemed every pain the elder brother felt exploded in his own body. Sam had no voice, to singular heart beat, nothing was his own, it was all shared with his nearly catatonic fit Dean was in, heart slamming into his ribs, as if trying to break out each beat felt like a dagger twist, Sam tasted blood boiling up in his throat and into his nose… _

_Samuel…_

_Dean tried desperately to get to the surface of the blood river, the animal kept shaking his throat, adding blood to feed the river like a sacrifice. And unholy wail cut through the water, Sam's head and shoulder's broke the surface, he gasped for air, the roar in his ears, ringing and rattling down in his bones. He blinked, casting his eyes out for help. The red eyed woman crouched on the sloped surface of a stone. _

_Drink, boy…swallow…_

_Her spine arched in shape like an animal, her hair was darkened with still dripping blood. He face and arms slicked almost tribally with black mud and swirls of blood and bile, ram's horns grew out around her ears, her narrow chest was heaving and rasped gasps disrupted the madness foam at her lips. She crouched possessively over a body, the stomach torn open and chest cracked and gaping, the exposed heart still giving feeble beats, the lungs let sickly gasps pass painfully over the lips of the still living victim. The soon to be dead man had Sam's face and the beaver totem the woman had given him wrapped around his ravaged throat, she cradled his head into her lap, against her knee. The twin's hand was tangled, wrapped tightly into her bloody shirt, looking like he was begging for his life…_

_Samuel…_

_Sam gasped as pain exploded over his abdomen and torso, his hand pressed into the soft flesh of his stomach and came away drenched in bile and blood. Celia snarled at him, red eyes blazing and reflecting his doppelganger's face. Her teeth were twisted, unnatural, and jagged, crowding her mouth in a wolf's maw, her eyes wild with something caught between fear, hate and disbelief, as if she was fighting herself on what happened. Sam moved, the water rippling and Celia screamed, her whole frame wrenching around, Sam bit clean through his tongue at the chorus of cracking bones drowned out thought, saliva and blood flying. Celia's frame and shape twisted into the massive wolf, a single yellow eye and a blind white one bruned away anything that's human… _

_Drink…_

_The yellow eye lunged forward, growing blood drenched teeth and a voice, jaws snapping like a trap over his own throat and tore into the vulnerable and soft flesh. Bile and blood filled his mouth and nose, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear over the echoing snarls of the yellow eye thrashing in the blood river…_

_Samuel…prophet…_

_He was forced under the surface, blood water rushing into the little space left in his throat and nose, the wolf pressed all it's weight into his shaking and tearing the flesh mercilessly, Sam clenched his teeth, everything in him screaming to not swallow the water, don't in hale, don't breath…_

_DRINK BOY_

_**Enough.**_

_Sam gasped, collapsing onto his hands and knees in the cold water, clear river water, far from a blood river. Sam shivered violently and lifted a shaking hand to his throat, it was whole, untouched and Sam coughed, desperately trying to breathe and swallow. A shift in the water made him lurch instinctively back and away, trying to get to his feet and stumbling, she crashed back on his hip and butt, scuttling back awkwardly. Looked up he swallowed thickly. The horse cocked its head and looked down at him. Large blue eyes blinked slowly, nostrils flaring. The ears cocked forward and watched him quietly. It was a huge paint horse, or maybe it seemed so huge because he was collapsed into the banks and shallows of a river, his vision was blurred but around the horse looked like the same canyon. _

_It was tall at the shoulder and well built, its frame fleshed out. The coat was red brown splashed and spotted in a painting of white; the pattern was expansive spreading over the back and rump down the sides, up the neck and down the legs. The sloping head was bald faced, pure white from nose tip to ears and halfway down the neck. Brilliant blue eyes seemed to watch him so pale in color they almost looked white._

_The mustang breathed out heavily and stamped a hoof. There was a crow perched on the horse's shoulder. The animal croaked and lifted off of the horse's shoulder and with a flap landed lightly on Sam's knee. The young man jerked and scrambled to get away from it, but the bird croaked in annoyance and flapped its wings several times to keep balanced, claws clinging to soaked jeans. _

_**Be still boy!**_

_Sam froze, staring at the crow. The voice was as feminine as the voice of a crow could get and had a very small ring of familiarity in it. _

_**Be still, Chatima. **_

_The bird righted itself and settled dignified on his knee. The painted horse stepped forward to keep up with them but stayed a solid few feet away. _

_**Chatima settled your nerves, you make the chieftain nervous.**_

_The horse gave a small snort as if to agree. Sam stared at the bird, thinking he had very much lost his mind. _

'_What are you…'_

_**A crow, boy, are you blind? Listen Cha'tima put no salt to these waking nightmares. Cast them off and do not speak of them to the girl.**_

'_What…'_

_**For your life sake do not speak of them to the girl, not a word. Are you listening to me, Chatima?**_

'_That's not my name…'_

_**Have you heard what I have said!**_

'_What…'_

_**Speak not a word of these visions to the girl, there is no amount of love in her heart for you or your brother that will spare your life is she finds you have them.**_

'_Who…you mean Red…why can't I…'_

_**Chatima you must know that there are scars the run deeper than love of any kind, wounds that do not heal, you have your own, for your life sake, for hers do not speak of these dreams.**_

'_I don't understand…'_

_**She has one of these fatal wounds by another like you, another touched by the sight. She is not whole and suffers still. Hear what I warn you, Chatima. Keep this from her, but this alone. **_

'_Dean's right…we can't trust her…'_

_**No, Chatima. Trust her with your life you will never have been safer. She would give her last breath for you, but vengeance makes monsters of us all.**_

'_But no…in the vision…she…I was…'_

_**Listen to me, put no salt in these nightmare. They don't show the truth.**_

'_I don't understand…'_

_**Perhaps you are not meant to. **_

"Sam!" Dean's voice snapped in Sam's ear and the pain dulled faded and replaced by mortal fear. Kaneonuskatew snarled, the bared teeth seemed more like a grin. The memory of the vision was wrapped around his memory and Sam thanked every star he had that Celia was focused on the wolf. His vision had gone unnoticed by the red eyed woman, the buckskin mustang Blackbird and the German Shepherd.

Kaneonuskatew took a step forward, towards Sam and Celia barked in rage, Blackbird lunged forward slamming hooves against the earth and charging the wolf. Buckshot flung himself forward, snarling and snapping at the wolf and digging his teeth deeply into the larger canine's shoulder before the wolf rolled over on top of him to get away. Kaneonuskatew lurched back, snarling wildly and snapping teeth as the horse ran him down. Blackbird lunged left and right, stamping hooves into the earth and practically dancing forward on his hind hooves. There was a satisfying crunch of bone and a pained yelp as the buckskin's hooves crashed down on the wolf's flank, pinning it briefly to earth before rearing back up and snorting like a animal from hell. Kaneonuskatew scrambled to his paws and tore away, Blackbird and Celia charging a few strides after him with a snort. Buckshot chased the wolf further, snarling and barking but turned back quickly for fear that the pack would come down on him.

"Let's move!" Celia barked, Blackbird sidestepped into a tight circle. The mustang stallion let out a deep chested snort and lunged forward due west. Chambeau and Widowmaker broke into full gallops without waiting for the Winchesters to ask for it.

The thunder of the horses hooves drowned out any other noise, the run was reckless even explosive. Mud, rock and rain water kicked up under hooves and Buckshot's paws. The caramel colored dog dodged between the horses to stay in pace as well as break any opportunity that a wolf could come up on him.  
Blackbird arched his neck and doubled his pace, forcing the two mares to do the same. Then it doubled again.

Sam was choking to keep breath in his lungs, both brothers clinging to the saddles and horses in the breakneck run. Rain felt like ice and the edges of knives, slashing across any exposed skin. But he didn't dare speak to try and slow the flight. Looking to the side sent an explosive wave of dizziness over his brain and showed the eerie dancing shadows just out of clear vision that could be nothing but wolves.

Sam suddenly understood the desperation and rush of survival adrenaline of every monster or animal that he and Dean and their father before them had hounded to their deaths. Sam hoped the wolves wouldn't have the same satisfaction of the kill.

Sam's attention was ripped from the wolves as he felt Widowmaker gather under him and lunge up and forward. The big mare hurtled over the rotting remains of a fallen tree. Sam's teeth sliced into the inside of his cheek and he gagged on the bitter, metallic taste of blood at the jarring impact of the ebony mare hitting the earth at a gallop. Dean let out a pained and wet gasp as Chambeau barely cleared the obstacle, her hind hooves scraping across the top of the trunk and making the bald faced, bay mare stumbled slightly and regathered herself to cut the distance between herself and Blackbird entirely. Widowmaker lunged forward to pace up on Blackbird's side, the horses' heads flung forward, bobbing with each bone rattling stride.

The horses' rushed breathing sounded like gunshots in Sam's pounding head. Buckshot was sprinting to keep up and he was starting to fail. Sam could hear Celia breathing, they were rushed, choked pants of air rattling over her throat and her eyes were watering in pain even Dean was gasping for air, it seemed to Sam that none of them would breath normally again.

They galloped up a ridge that suddenly banked and plunged down in almost a shear drop into a rocky bank of a rushing river. Sam and Dean barely got their startled gasps out before Blackbird crashed straight down a steep and wrenched path closely followed by Buckshot, Widowmaker and Chambeau. The path wound left and right to make it safer but even at a slow and careful walk it was a deadly trail and worse fall. They were talking it at a full tilt run. Blackbird and Celia led the way with their experience, crashing down the bank and kicking up rock and muddy earth behind them.

While Dean and Sam didn't appreciate the earth and rock kicked up in their faces, practiced rancher or horseman would have seen what Celia was doing in a heartbeat and thanked her unceasingly for it. Celia had purposefully checked Blackbird's pace, the stallion mustang had slung his weight back and down keeping his hind quarters low and fore quarters lower. The mustang was digging in as he plunged recklessly down the bank trail, driving down left then cutting sharply right a few dug out strides and twisted to dive left again. The buckskin mustang was cutting out a trail, excavating the old path and fleshing it out with his weight and hooves to make it easier for the less experienced riders behind him. Hooves slamming into the wet earth and cutting out a groove that the dog and two mares had an easier time fitting into, the slope banked sharply, a stride and a half and the horses plunged into the icy rushing river water. Sam gasped as the cold assaulted him, rolling up over Widowmaker's side and over his already soaked jeans, it swept under his slicker and soaked his dry shirt all the way through, in five seconds he was shivering like a kicked dog but the horses plowed on ahead, tripping and slipping over the riverbed rock and water and bounding to break through the rolling river. Sam swallowed the fear lodged in his throat, remembering vividly the river of blood and the hellhound like wolves that chased him and Dean there. Celia and Blackbird raced on tirelessly, if it hadn't been for the rushed pain in their breath Sam would have thought without effort, without need for strength at all.

The buckskin lunged out of the icy water and onto the opposite bank, leaping up the slope, cutting over the drop off and breaking out into a flat gallop on the stretch beyond. They left the Owyhee Bull Run River behind them, Sam glanced back at his own risk sending a wave of nausea over himself to watch a large wolf start to scramble down the opposite bank towards the river.

The three horses and gasping dog pressed on, galloping, breath heaving and tripping as they went until what seemed like hours later Celia pulled Blackbird up so the horse slowed to a comfortable trot. Chambeau started coughing thickly as the pace slowed but kept up the trot and Widowmaker danced forward nervously, trying to break away from Sam and continue to run until she dropped.

"We're out….wolf terri…there's…there's a…ranger station 'bout a quarter….quarter mile…" Celia panted, her voice thick and laden with pain and exhaustion. She coughed roughly into her hand; it came away slicked with blood that both Winchesters noticed for a heartbeat before she slung her hand out and away to rid it of the fluid. She was shivering, mind dulled and practically half blind with pain that was searing through her leg. She was forcing back the sheer need to vomit and collapse entirely to the earth. The pain was causing her vision to waver and cause starburst of agony over her brain. But she kept her mouth shut and swallow the small rushed of bile in her throat and suffered through, like a true rancher and Nevadan.

The trot ate the quarter mile and a rain drenched building flooded their view. The horse nickered and Buckshot woofed tiredly at the sight of it, Sam himself felt like an Israelite stepping out of Egyptian controlled lands. Stumbling, aching and drenched in sweat, rain and river water the small pack walked up to a closed pipe gate like those at Celia's ranch, without hesitation Celia leaned far over Blackbird's side and unlatched the gate, pushing it open grimacing in pain. They stepped into the safety of the enclosed corral next to the stone brick-work building, the brothers followed Celia like obedient dogs, passed the covered porch of the actual office, a sheet of sheer rain falling down the slope of the roof and over into the earth, churning it into a muddy mess. The horses walked stiffly around the paddock and around to the side of the building, there was a sturdy lean-to against the station. It seemed like the actual office of the building had been built to accommodate man and horse as under the second, taller cover was a set of double sliding doors that foretold a barn within. It felt strange to step out of the unceasing rain under the shadow of the roof. Blackbird stepped tiredly up to the door, swung his rump around so that his side was practically pressed into the metal off the door, Celia leaned over, unlatched the door and with what strength she had left shoved it open. The door yawned into darkness just wide enough for a horse to pass through comfortably. The buckskin and red eyed woman stepped in without hesitation and Buckshot stumbled after them. Widowmaker and Chambeau shoved together briefly before Chambeau backed up a step to let Widowmaker go first then followed into the barn.

It was pitch dark within, breaking only with the faded glow of their lanterns, the air cool but dry and hung with the smell of hay and alfalfa. Dean and Sam ran their large hands over their faces and necks to get rid of some of the water chilling their flesh, Sam shivered violently and sniffed loudly.

Buckshot whined loudly and collapsed onto the floor, too tired to even curl up.

"We'll lay over for a while." Celia rasped and gingerly swung her leg over Blackbird's back and dropped to earth, she collapsed on impact, crashing down on her good knee with a rasp near wail of pain, Blackbird side stepped away from her nervously, pinning his ears and nickering worriedly.

"Red!" Sam barked sharply, Dean had already struggled down from the saddle and tripped himself at the odd feeling of being back on his own feet again. Sam had the same disorienting experience, falling down on his hands and knees before scrambling back up to his feet. He spat out a mouthful of blood in the process, licking the inside of his cheek across shallow gash made by his teeth.

Celia snarled at Dean as he crouched at her side.

"Red-" Dean pressed biting his tongue when she cut him off.

"Horses first, people second." Celia snapped, yanking off her slicker. "Turn on the tap over the trough." She ordered.

"Red-" Sam started.

"Do it." She ordered, grabbing a hold of the stirrup on Blackbird's saddle and awkwardly hauling herself up to her feet, she hobbled, hopping on her right foot and refusing to put the left one down at all. She struggled balanced on one foot to loosen the girth and unbuckle the breast collar across the buckskin's chest, she unhooked the lantern and set it on the ground. With a grunt she yanked the saddle and blanket and saddle packs all off of Blackbird's sweat soaked back and let it fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Sam left Dean to hover at Celia's side and rushed to crank the stiff faucet, water rushed in a small roar out of the tap and into a large silver metal trough, once the water was flowing Sam pulled off his slicker. He glanced over as Dean did the same, dropping the plastic to the ground.

"Unsaddle 'em." Celia ordered, and looping her hand through the nylon band of Blackbird's blue halter and his leather strap of his bridle. The buckskin snorted and braced as Celia's crutch. She limped heavily and steered the horse towards the water trough.

Dean watched her move carefully as he stepped over and smoothly unbuckled the girth and breast collar and lifted the saddle down and off of the bay mare. Chambeau grunted happily and snuffled gratefully in his hair before she stepped over to the water trough.

"Sam there's some blankets and towels in the office closet, fetch 'em for me." Celia pressed; her hand was still firmly looped around Blackbird's halter as the animal sucked loudly at the cool water. Sam glanced at Widowmaker shifting uncomfortably under her saddle, Dean noticed and stepped over loosening the girth. Sam gave him a grateful nod and stepped towards a door, there was a light switch on the wall but Sam left it alone and pulled the door open and stepped into the office of the ranger station. It was jet dark in the office and Sam reached out, he brushed his hand over and flicked on the light. He blinked sharply, trying to rub the spots out of his vision. He looked around the yellow lit hall and followed it down to a door, he opened it and found it to be an office, the desk was littered with paper work and manila folders around a black desktop computer. Sam closed the door and went to the next, it was another room of three of four desks. The last room must have been the superior's.

The next door was a bathroom. Then the hall opened up to the actual office, Sam reaching around and flicking on the light. There was a chest high counter and desk like in a hospital across the middle of the room. There were two computers and chairs behind the desk along with a few out of sight personal items. There was a filing cabinet and a small kitchenette, a half size fridge, counter top and sink and cabinets. On the counter there was a drying rack filled with coffee mugs and a few small dishes. The walls were decorated with black and white photographs of mounted rangers on horse back. One of them was dated _1897_. As well as a large framed map of the territory on the wall over several plush chairs. It was obvious that this little ranger station out in the middle of a stretch of Nevada desert was in clean operation. Sam glanced around and found another hall and followed it to another set of doors. The first was a lounge with a plush couch and a small television as well as a CB Radio system and a door set back in the corner. He crossed the room to open it and found it to be a small set of lockers, showers and bathroom. Sam stepped back out into the hall and opened the next door. It was a large store room stocked with survival gear. Rolled up sleeping bags, tents, several different kinds of lanterns and fuels. There was ammunition and a locked weapon's safe. There was food stuff, canned goods and raw materials like flour and sugar. A lower shelf was stocked with a large plastic container of clothes, cracking it open Sam found tee shirts and jeans and he quickly dug out two large pairs of dark blue jeans, a smaller pair of stoner-washed and three tee shirts, two larges and a medium. Sam balled the clean, dry clothes under his arm. The rest of the shelf was stocked with fluffy white towels and different colored blankets. Sam had to admit that the rangers were well prepared.

"Hey."

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin and looked up at Dean. The elder Winchester looked like a half drowned dog, dripping muddy water into the puddles that Sam had already created. Dean was heaving slow and deep breaths.

"What?" Sam asked.

"She's hurt. Bad." Dean said.

"Red?"

"Yeah. Hasn't said anything but she won't put her foot on the ground. I think either her knee is dislocated or her knee cap's split. It's bad, I can tell." Deana muttered, "See any first aid kits?"

"Over there." Sam motioned towards the other side of the room where there were several large, stacked medicinal kits and a glass faced refrigerator filled with anti-toxins and venom antidotes as well as pain killers and medicines. Dean strode across the room and pulled out one of the kits and started rummaging in the ice box.

"She's not going to let you any where near her." Sam muttered, tugging out two large blankets and several towels and tried to figure how to carry everything.

"What?"

"She's like you Dean, she's just going to tell you to get away from her. You hate it when someone's trying to take care of you, too." Sam rearranged and stacked towels on top of blankets and then the clothes on top of those.

"Yeah well, she's spittin' like a treed bobcat in there."

Both brothers froze and looked around at each other.

"What did I just say that?" Dean asked.

"'Spittin' like a treed bobcat'." Sam made sure to annunciate the _spittin' _part.

Dean and Sam looked at each other for a few seconds.

"She's rubbing off." Dean muttered.

"Apparently." Sam gathered up the blankets, towels and clothes and awkwardly stood. "I know one thing for a fact, there's no way that she'll be able to compete tomorrow. She's going to hate us."

Dean glanced up, the Labor Day competition that Celia was supposed to be performing in the next day had entirely slipped his mind, Dean swallowed thickly. Sam started for the door but stopped when Dean dodged around in front of him and shut the door. Sam just cast him a confused look.

"Sam, you had a vision, right? Right before we took off like that, when you were looking at that wolf."

"Kaneonuskatew." Sam agreed, sure he had mispronounced the name.

"Whatever. What happened?" Dean pressed.

Sam sighed, "It was really broken Dean, like rambling. There was a wolf, Kaneonuskatew I think because it only had one eye. In a canyon and a river of blood or red water and we were drowning."

"_We_?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah, you were under the water, too. There was some kind of dog or a wolf trying to rip out your throat. And I was trying to get through the water, towards you or towards the surface and when I finally got a breath of air there was…"Sam choked on his sudden dialogue, he held back the sight of Celia crouching on a stone and cradling his mutilated twin, it didn't feel right. Sam swallowed thickly and pressed on, editing as he went, "…this wolf was standing there and mauled my throat and tried to drown me, too. There was screaming and howling." Sam shook his head and would have tugged at his ear in worry if he didn't have his arms full. "Then it stopped, it just changed."

"What?" Dean asked sharply.

"Someone or something said 'enough' and it all stopped and I was in the same canyon, same river but the water was clear and there was a horse and a crow. A big brown and white horse-" Sam didn't notice Dean's eyes flash, his face and eye written with mild shock, nervousness and a hard protective glint. He's been practically staring at Sam since he'd said that Dean was drowning in a river while an animal tried to tear out his throat, the horse and crow cinched it and flooded the elder brother with the disrupted memory of his own dream and the details he'd left out to Sam, the details Sam had experienced himself. Dean stayed quiet. "-and the crow landed on my knee and talked to me. She called the horse 'the chieftain' and called me 'Cha'tima' over and over."

"You talked to a crow, what did it say?"

"She, it was female. At least its voice sounded that way. But she said that I can't talk to Red about me having visions, that she would kill me."

"What! I knew it! Knew it!" Dean practically barked and he looked ready to throw the first aid kit and small bottle of pain killers down on the floor.

"Dean calm down." Sam said hurriedly, "Not because it's _me_. The crow said that she loved us and would die for us if it came down to it but there was a seer or something in her past and he hurt her, did something that damaged her so bad that she's still suffering, she just has a grudge."

"Let me get this straight. Red would get herself killed for us-"

"To protect us."

"Just so long as she doesn't find out that you have mind benders? After that she'd take her personal vendetta against some psychic that whammied her a long time ago out on you and if she really is rubbing off I would say she'd 'gut ya like a deer'." Dean mimicked Celia's accent almost perfectly.

Sam shrugged and feeling completely ridiculous mutter, "That's what that crow said in my vision."

Dean sighed sarcastically, "Great. Fucking fantastic."

"Dean the crow said she loved us." Sam pressed.

"So?"

"Demon's can't express love."

Dean snarled and muttered under his breath. "Not a word of this to her." He snapped protectively. Sam rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.  
"I'm dead serious, Sam."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam pushed passed Dean and back into the hall. He walked through the office, down the other hall and nudged open the door to the barn. He glanced over and saw Celia doubled over, one hand with a white knuckle grip on a clump of Blackbird's mane. She coughed thickly twice and hacked once, spitting up blood and gave a single pained dry heave. All signs of recently vomiting. Sam didn't dare look into the fifty gallon plastic trash barrel that stood not to far off of the water trough, the lid lying awkwardly on the floor was enough for the sharp younger brother to confirm his suspicion.

Dean was right, she really was hurt.

"Red?" Sam asked tentatively. She glanced up at him, still gasping to keep air in her lungs she looked pale and draw in the yellow light of the hall.

"Red are you alright?" Sam pressed gently.

"No." She mumbled and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. "Throw me a towel and get one of yerself. We gotta rub these horses dry or they'll get sick." She held out a shaky hand in his direction. Sam dropped the pile on the floor of what he could see now was simple, smooth cement.

He pulled free two towels and tossed one to her, making sure his aim was well enough that she wouldn't have to struggle to catch it.

"Thanks." She muttered and still balancing on her right leg she turned towards the buckskin and started rubbing the horse's fur and skin with the towel. Sam stepped over to Widowmaker, the black mare licking her lips to clear any water left lingering on her teeth. Sam thanked Dean silently again for having unsaddled the mare, looked at Celia once, watching her rub circles and copied her. A few seconds later and Dean stepped into the room.

"Dean, grab a towel and start working on Chambeau." Sam said, giving his brother a look that clearly meant don't argue and do it. Sam noticed that the elder brother had abandoned his medical supplies as he grabbed a towel.

"They don't have to be perfectly dry, boys. Just rub out most of the water." Celia rasped to them, she was working on Blackbird's shoulder. Silence except for the sound of horses breathing and Buckshot panting as the Winchesters and Celia worked the rain and mud out of the horses' fur until they weren't soaking wet. The damp left behind would dry soon enough.

"Sam grab a bale from over there and haul it back, cut the wire." Celia sighed, she seemed like she was starting to give over to the pain exploding in her knee. Sam silently crossed the room and struggled to haul a bale from a stack over and wrenched around the wire until it was twisted enough to pull away from the hay. The three horses nickered and stepped over to dig into the hay. Celia stumbled a step forward as Blackbird pulled away from her.

She crashed down onto her right knee and twisted the left. A gut wrenching gasp of pain broke out of her lips and she braced herself on her good knee and hands, shivering violently. She was panting swallowing thickly, sounding very much like she was trying to hold back sobs. She coughed, a violent choking sound forced up her throat and she spat a mouthful of bile and blood onto the cement. Dean stepped quickly over and very carefully helped her twist around and sit on her butt. She started to speak when Dean smoothly lifted her off of the floor with an arm under her knees and behind her shoulders. He'd been smart enough to make sure that he left side was facing out.

"Dean, put me down." Celia ordered, though one of her arms had draped instinctively around his neck for support while her other hand was wrapped tightly into his drenched shirt.

"You're not heavy." He reasoned and started towards the open hall. Sam scrambled to gather up the clothes. He felt a small pressure in his mind that maybe what Sam had said about demons and what the crow said all together had sunk into Dean's mind, that if Celia loved she couldn't be a demon or under the control of one, they couldn't even fake love if they needed to. It always came out stilted and unnerving, wrong. The same way John had acted when the yellow eyed demon had possessed him. Either that or Dean was trying to keep Sam as far away from her as possible.

"Dean, on the floor. Now." Celia growled but Sam couldn't help but notice that she had shifted, just barely into Dean's hold, pressing herself closer into his brother's chest and what little warmth there was to soak in.

"Not yet." Dean snorted and carried Celia down the hall towards the office, Sam trailing behind. Celia sighed tiredly and slumped into Dean's chest.

"My knee." She muttered. Dean and Sam stayed quiet. Dean carried her passed the counter of the office and down the second hall. He stopped at the lounge and locker door, giving the door a light kick and stepping through when it swung open. Dean started to ease her down onto the couch.

"Dean, the locker." Celia muttered, nodding towards the far door. Sam jogged up and around, opening the door and standing back so Dean could carry Celia through. She hissed, her nails digging like claws into Dean's neck and chest as her left knee brushed against the doorway.

"Left knees messed up, half blind in the left eye, you've got scars on your left arm." Dean muttered like he was making conversation, Sam's eyes flicked to her left arm and noticed the very faint discolorations on her forearm, masked and lost in the natural tan the desert gave her. Dean must have only been able to see them in the yellow light of the ranger station with her skin paled out in pain.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked, glancing down at her, he noted Celia's head dip a little and a small color cross her face.

"Red." Dean pressed.

Celia heaved a tired sigh but kept her mouth shut, she glanced down at the median bench cemented into the title floor in front of the set of lockers for the rangers. She knew by the way that Dean hesitated, stood hovering just next to the bench that he would not put her down until she told him. With her knee the way it was it was unlikely that she would be able to force her way to the ground.

She looked longingly down at the bench and sighed.

"There was an accident." She muttered, embarrassment flecking her voice, "When I was a pup."

"Car accident?" Dean asked.

"A riding accident." Sam assumed.

"A fall." Celia muttered. "Out on Blackriver Pass."

Dean tensed and Celia felt the coil of muscles. She swallowed thickly. Dean was looking at her with cool collection. Dean could tell it was a half truth and Celia seemed to shrink in his arms under his hard gaze. Sam tensed up and looked between his brother and Celia.

"What happened?" Sam pressed quietly, hoping that she would finish what she'd begun. Celia sighed and kept her eyes down on the bench.

"Puma. Puma spooked my colt. He tripped, skidded and slid down the rock face. Would have been fine then, but….the lion came down the face and went for him. He fell over, on top of me and we went down. Colt split his shoulder but he could run. The lion had my number, tore me up pretty bad." She pried her fingers away from Dean's shirt and lifted it, twisting it to show them the scars. The pale light reflected off of the faded car tissue and made it stand out sharply.

Dean and Sam had seen enough Windego, lycanthrope, black dog and skin walker victims to see the attack patterning in her arm. The scars were claw marks and the inside of her elbow was a clear and distinct scarring of a jagged set of teeth. The mountain lion had lock its jaws there and torn into her from that focal point.

"Everyone's haunted by somethin'. Sam's got wolves. Dean, ya got the Coyote." Celia sighed, "I've got the lions."

Dean looked around at Sam, the younger brother shrugged a shoulder slightly and Dean gingerly eased Celia down to sit on the less than comfortable bench, she heaved out a tired breath but tensed up and recoiled as Dean, who had a solid seventy pounds on her, leaned heavily over her. Threateningly resting a large hand on the bench on either side of her hips.

"How do you know this?"

"I-"

"How did you know when I didn't that Sam's afraid of wolves? And don't tell me you didn't because I know you did! I'm not afraid of coyotes, how did you know that one's hassling me? Where did you learn it from!" Dean's words were cutting sharp, dangerous and pressing Celia in every way not to lie to him.

"Things happen to people, Dean, puts new hounds on their trails." Celia bit out, cryptic and giving nothing. Dean slammed a fist down into the wood dangerously close to Celia's left leg and therefore knee. Sam shifted nervously and didn't step in but was having a hard time with the idea of threatening Celia like this, but that would mean crossing his brother. And for everything Sam would have chosen Dean over the red eyed rancher in a heart beat, no question but that definite line was becoming more and more blurred by the second.

"TELL ME!" Dean barked in her face, "QUIT THIS GODDAMN RUN AROUND AND TELL ME!"

"I can't." Celia said calmly, quietly. Dean's head slumped forward, hanging heavily between his shoulders and his eyes focusing on the buckle of Celia's belt.

"Why…"

The question was strained and frustrated, pained even.

"Its not my place." Celia said, her voice and tone was a perfect match to Dean's question. There was the same longing to the words and Sam knew in an instant that Celia did want to talk to them, tell everything they'd forgotten or cast aside. She wanted them to know, she just needed a way.

"Then-" Sam said kneeling next to her left knee on the floor, Dean and Celia looked around at him, "-tell us a story."

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**Hope ya like, read and review please...muchas gracias! The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	17. Some Wounds Are Better Left Open

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! STAY SAFE WHEN YOU'RE DOWN AT THE FORT!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-****Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Seventeen:Some Wounds Are Better Left Open**

**"A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever."**

**- Jessamyn West**

**…**

_Northwest Owyhee Desert Ranger Patrol Station, Owyhee Desert Territory, Nevada_

Celia swallowed thickly and looked at Sam's chocolate eyes. Sorrowful and pleading, like any calf or colt looking for attention or help. It was innate in her to protect eyes like that, she'd spent so many years feeding sickly newborns from bottles, helping them to their feet, settling their nerves the first time that a halter went over their head or a bit between their teeth. It was in her blood, training and lifestyle, her heart practically bled for those eyes.

But she recoiled, inwardly. Her eyes locked on Sam's.

When men think of primal they think of violence, horrible action that was worthy of urban legend. They think of mindless murderers, cold blooded hate and eyes that burned with vengeance. Of predators that preyed on the weak, exerting power over any and all around them. Society relates primal to animalistic psychopaths, rapists, lunatics and unspeakable crimes. There had been more than one instance where Henrickson called Dean 'primal' during his still on going investigation.

That brand of primal was hardly worth paying attention to in the desert. In Nevada they called that survival instinct. Sam had a rarer and more dangerous brand of primal trait. It appealed to compassion instead of fear, it sought out the softness in the soul and begged to be taken care of, pleaded for help and care. Gentle hands and soothing words. Almost parasitic in a way that it burrow deeper and deeper into the heart, eating away and soaking up all the resources it could before it dislodged again. That trait attacked the need all animals and humans had to care for the helpless, the young. It preyed on an individual's instinct to nurture, the instinct to protect and love and promote growth. It was like a rattler in the pocket. If you stepped on a snake sure the bite hurt, but when that snake was a loved pet and friend it hurt so much more. Celia recoiled from Sam, her stomach turning with disgust, even revulsion. In her mind Sam was a hundred times more dangerous than any murderer.

Sam swallowed tightly at her silence. He'd hoped she would have thrown him a smile or a casual remark about him being sly or something of that nature. She only looked at him with clouded and masked eyes.

They sat together shivering in exhaustion and chill. Their soaking wet clothes were sticking to their skin and sending the cold deep into their bones and muscles. Dean and Sam were actually shaking, having finally started to get used to the heat of the desert. The rain and the river water where shocks to their systems. It was becoming more and more apparent that Nevada was really nothing to them but one shock to the system after another and the two brothers were both starting to individually swear never to return to the state. Even beyond Las Vegas' existence. There was one factor that continued to disrupt this pact.

Celia.

"Sam." Dean snarled, completely oblivious to what Sam was offering. "What the hell are you talking about? What the fuck does some stupid story do for anybody?!"

The cold, sharp tone of Dean's voice seemed to snap Celia out of her trance and he bit her lip as pain flooded back into her knee. She growled and braced a hand roughly on Dean's arm and shoulder set to cage her from the left side. She shoved him with a little more force than necessary, Dean stumbled and nearly tripped as he was over balanced.

"What the-"

"Dean, fetch me that bucket from the closet." Celia snapped. Dean and Sam both looked startled at her tone and change in attitude.

"Re-"

"Go. Please." Celia rasped out, masking pain with impatience.

"Fuck that." Dean barked back, his temper spiking at her tone.

"Look, if ya haven't noticed I have a low pain tolerance-"Celia grumbled doggishly, a hint of shame in her voice.

"Low pain tolerance?!" Sam scoffed, "You've just ridden over a hundred miles of some of the roughest most dangerous terrain in the United States! On horseback and at a breakneck speed! You never said a word, never did anything more than groan! You've been taking beating after beating for the last six hours! Not including giving us lessons and doing chores! And you still put the horses and us before yourself! You have anything but a low pain tolerance!" Sam barked in disbelief.

"Shut up, Sam. Its ninety five miles give or take and for a Nevadan it's a low pain tolerance so I would appreciate it if ya would get me that bucket, Dean Winchester." Celia growled bad temperedly as pain flair up her legs into her chest and threatened to gag her.

Dean and Sam jumped, reeling slightly and staring at her, shocked by the venom in her voice.

Celia bristled, "Please…just please bring me the fuckin' bucket."

Her voice broke and she looked pale, she physically winced and gave a gut wrenching dry heave. Sam and Dean started, staring at her as Celia buried her face in her hands in shame.

Dean glanced at Sam, the younger brother made a slight twitch of his head and with a grumble Dean stormed out of the locker and towards the supply closet. Sam let out a deep breath and looked at Celia, she was refusing to meet his eyes.

"Red."

"Sam, yer askin' me to replay some of the worst moments of my life." Celia spat out.

"No, I'm not." Sam pressed and nudged the clothes and towels and medical supplies out of the way so he could scoot closer to her. "I'm asking you to tell a story."

"Sam-"

"Red, please. I don't understand what happened to me there. It could have gotten us all killed. I need to know. And I'm sure that Dean wants to know, too. Celia…just tell a story. Just like the story about the river and dogwood trees. Only this one is about two brothers."

"Two brothers and a horse chieftain." Celia muttered and Sam stiffened.

"What?"

"Here's the stupid bucket." Dean snapped, shoving through the door and dropping the plastic bucket loudly on the floor next to her.

"Thanks." Celia sighed. Deana mellowed sharply at her defeated tone. He threw a look at Sam but the younger brother was staring at Celia in confusion. She reached around and slid her bone hilt hunting knife from her hip. The flash of the blade made Dean and Sam shift but she didn't pay attention to them.

"Dean, can ya-" She made a slight motion towards the area generally in front of her. Dean cocked his head slightly then stepped around in front of her. Celia didn't hesitate and with a wince and hiss of pain she hiked her left leg up and braced her boot on Dean's thigh. Dean gave a step and he saw panic in Celia's eyes for a second as the support she had hoped for swayed. Dean instantly stepped in, causing her knee to bend slightly and he braced his weight against hers. The elder Winchester's large hands hooked under her boot heel to add extra support. Celia nodded her thanks and leaned forward. She tugged her pant leg out and deftly started to slice the fabric of her jeans. The silence hung in the air thickly until Celia cut the pant leg up well passed her knee and halfway up her thigh. She tore the ice pack bandaged in place away and let it drop uselessly to the floor then unstrapped the brace from the joint. They stared at her bare knee for a second.

"Shit, Celia." Dean muttered, he paled and Sam was hissing in sympathy pain, his own hands wrapping around his knee to rub the joint. Her normally tawny colored skin was swelled up and stretched around the joint dangerously, flushed a sickly brackish purple color. Where it wasn't the darkened bruise it was red and inflamed. It was twice the size the joint should have been. From Dean's point of view he could see clearly that the bone structure in her joint and lower leg was skewed awkwardly. He knew it was the damage left over from the original injury, only more pronounced with the current state of the knee.

Celia grumbled like the pain of the joint was simply a stubborn and frustrating piece of equipment.

She reached around and set the bucket directly under her knee. She gave the bone hilt knife in her hand a casual flip then before either Sam or Dean could protest sliced the blade across the side of the knee. She started below the joint and followed the bend of the knee up to above the inflammation.

The wound in the side of her leg spilled a small river of blood, pouring into the bucket with a slosh. Dean swallowed thickly and tightened his grip on her heel.

Celia sat back, leaning on her palms and gritting her teeth in pain. The blood in the bucket churned as it collected. The cells themselves discolored and obviously unhealthy from pressure and injury, Sam swallowed thickly and kept his stomach in check when a slightly thicker cream like fluid swirled into the spilling blood.

Dean and Sam remained silent, looking between each other.

She leaned forward and pressed her hands into the inflammation in her knee, pushing more damaged blood out of the joint. The size had decreased dramatically, the red faded all together and there was little of the bruised purple color left as bad blood fled through the self inflicted wound. Sam was still looking at Celia expectantly, she glanced up and met eyes with him for a second and sighed. The noise just under her breath.

"Kaneonuskatew is a Cree Indian word." She muttered, Sam tensing and watching her closely. "It means 'he walks on four claws'. It's the name I grew up knowing for him, the Wolf Chieftain. I never knew his name before. Never saw him…didn't know he existed…"

Celia took a deep breath and chanced a looked between the Winchesters.

"There were two brothers, young, the eldest barely in his twelfth year. Their father was a hunter with a strong hand. And their mother had stars in her hair. But she walked the Red Road before her time." Celia sighed heavily and shifted, wincing as her knee moved. "They grew in their father's shadow and once, before they were ready, sought out their own hunt. Prove themselves. Everythin'…it was all chosen badly…and they went into the desert to find their 'big game'. They got lost, got sick unused to the heat and by shear unlucky time stumbled into a moot between the Coyote and his brother the Wolf. They would have watched from afar, waitin' for the brothers to take their deaths from the desert herself. Why waste the energy and kill them themselves? The brothers were half dead already." Celia shrugged and shifted again. The bleeding of her knee had all but stopped and the joint looked next to normal and practically painless. But looks were rarely the truth, Celia's low hiss of pain was enough to ensure that fact to the Winchesters.

Sam rummaged in the first aid kit and came up with a spool of medical thread and a needle. He started for her knee, trying to thread the needle.

"No, takes to long. It won't hold." She muttered, and used one of the towels to mop up the self inflicted wound until it was clean as it was going to be. She picked her blade back up and eased her knee down from Dean's thigh, with a bit of a fight with Dean's grip before her boot was on the floor. She started to stand, both Winchesters quickly hooking their hands under her arms. She nudged Sam back, but let Dean hold onto her for support.

She twisted the knife in her hand.

"_Peta_." She puffed her breath over the knife and tightened her grip on the hilt. In a few seconds the blade had darkened, then turned red and finally was white with heat.

"Another 'little thing' you can do?" Dean asked, though there was a lack of venom or accusation in his voice, he had a clear idea what she was going to do. Though it seemed like one of those extremes that few were willing to take, except soldiers in the midst of battle.

"Among others." She muttered and wrapped her hand tightly around Dean's bicep, her nails digging like claws and then she turned the blade broad side and pressed the heated metal into the cut. Sam and Dean both flinched sympathetically but Celia's eyes were practically lifeless as she shut herself off from the pain. Her teeth were clench so tight she wouldn't have been able to unlock her jaw to make a noise if she had wanted to.

Sam swallowed thickly as the smell of burnt flesh and blood filled his nose. He coughed gagging on the unpleasant smell and earned a stern look from Dean. Celia peeled the still hot blade from its place against her knee, shifted it up and pressed it into the last half of the wound. The few seconds she waited seemed to feel like hours before she pulled the blade free and practically flung it from her hand, it clattered to the floor. She slumped, sagging and Dean swiftly wrapped and arm around her waist and helped her ease down onto the bench. Her head hung forward, startling Dean slightly when he felt her skull and the set of ram's horns pressing into his stomach, he stood directly in front of her and she leaned against him. The pressure was enough that dean waaas sure his skin would sport an indentation of ridges where her horns were settled against his flesh.

Dean felt his stomach turn in sympathy. He'd never seen someone actually cauterize a wound like that. He'd heard a small story about how Caleb had been hurt badly and gone to the same measure to keep his stomach from being ripped open enough for his entrails to spill out. But he was sure that the story was dramatized for his young teenage benefit. Dean carefully raised one of his large hands and rested it comfortingly on the back of Celia's neck, putting a little rolling pressure into the base of her skull.

"That hurt." Celia muttered, her breathing was a pant but it was considerably higher than normal. She coughed, cleared her throat once.

"The elder got stupid." She choked out after a minuet, the top of her head still pressed into Dean's belly. "Flung himself at the Coyote. And the younger got scared and went for the Wolf."

"What happened?" Sam pressed before her could stop himself and Dean glared at him. The elder Winchester had unconsciously started to pet Celia's skull, running his hand lightly over the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her messy pony tail then running down along her spine in her neck before lifting and returning to the beginning of its path. He could feel Celia slowly relaxing and cautioned to gently run his fingers over her horns feeling the ridges and dips in them. He was slightly startled to find a deep furrow in the side of the side of the left horn. Dean twisted to look down at the scar left in her horn. He assumed it was another souvenir from her fall with the mountain lion. Dean traced it one more time for before returning to petting her hair.

Celia scoffed.

"What the hell do ya think happened? They were kids. They got torn up."

Sam had a brief flash of a memory, more like a glance of a movie that he'd seen in childhood. Two young boys and the rolling muscular bodies of two canines, teeth flashing and snapping, snarls and terrified wails of children. Dust and rubble of desert plain kicking up around the struggle, the ground spattered in fresh blood.

Sam ground his teeth so deeply into his lower lip that he was almost sure that he was going to slice through it but a deadly look from Dean stopped him from asking anything. After a second that seemed to last a year Celia took a deep breath.

"They were good as dead. But the Crow had notice them leavin' safety that mornin' for their hunt and followed them. She saw them meet the Wolf and Coyote and she saw the beginnin' of their murder. She was terrified and flew as quickly as she could back towards the edge of the desert to find their hunter father. She got lucky and crossed the Horse Chieftain in the desert and his band. The Chieftain, he had a soft spot for men. Didn't he send some of his own children into man's camp to carry him into battle and be his friend? When Crow met him she cried, begged and wept until any color in her feathers were stained in black from the salt, so frantic she was for the lives of the brothers that she wouldn't let the Chieftain speak and pledged her life and loyalty to him if only he would help the brothers."

Dean could feel Celia shivering slightly, not only under his hand but against his stomach. He couldn't see from his angle that she was also wringing her hands tightly and her eyes were shut, her face pinched as she spoke. Both brothers were listening so intensely at the mention of a horse chieftain and crow companion that they were having trouble keeping still. Each of their respective dreams running through their minds.

"The Chieftain pitied her, he would have tried to help the brothers for the mere fact that they were colts, babies that needed protectin' but 'cause of Crow he swore to save them no matter what it took and grit his teeth towards the Wolf and Coyote. The Chieftain took Crow onto his shoulder and sent one of his sons to find the hunter father. The Chieftain galloped over the desert to where the brothers were being slaughter. When Crow and the Chieftain got there the brothers were practically dead. The elder's face and hands were in ribbons, his back was nothing but open wounds, the Coyote drinkin' his blood. But he was the better off."

Celia took a shaky, steeling breath and leaned her head slightly more into Dean's stomach, refusing to look at either of them.

"The Wolf is cruel. He enjoys watchin' men suffer for them killin' his pack. The younger was awake, breathin', cryin' and Kaneonuskatew had his teeth sunk into the boy's skull above his ears. He was…he was just…he was grindin' his teeth in…just _grindin'_."

There was a watery intake of breath, and Dean knew for a fact that she was crying but he was staring at Sam, at a loss, unable to fathom the sight of a wolf chewing into Sam's skull. He the innate terror in his stomach at the idea of Sam being tortured like that left him with no feeling to comfort Celia. Sam swallowed thickly and carefully lifted his hand up and felt under his hair, searching the skin above his left ear.

Sam's heart practically stopped when he felt a slight ridge of scar tissue, a few inches above his ear. In a place that he was dead sure if something intended to hurt him that was the place to sink their teeth. Sam reached around and searched the other side of his skull. Another ridge of scar tissue above his ear. It took every ounce of Sam Winchester's will power not to race to the nearest mirror and try desperately to see the scars.

"God that horse was pissed when he saw that." Celia muttered. "Y'all have never seen a horse fight but goddamn… kicked in the Coyote's chest…stomped on the Wolf…tore his face apart…both were crippled by the Chieftain. The Coyote's back was broken. That's why he walks on a sway. Kaneonuskatew lost his eye and half his face. They blame the brothers…both of 'em…for what happened 'em…"

"But it was the Chieftain-"

"Goddamnit! Don't ya get it! If it weren't for the brothers the horse wouldn't have come down on 'em! And more so if it weren't for Crow the Chieftain would have never known to come down on 'em, but they lay all blame on the brothers." Celia snapped, sitting up suddenly her head jerking slightly aside to get free when Dean's hand got caught under her horn against her skull. Dean gave a very small hiss as the ridge and tip of her horn cut across the back of his hand. A small fine line of blood beaded to the surface but Dean casually wiped the back of hand on his soaked jeans and forgot about the small injury in a hurry.

Celia rubbed a hand across her face and sighed.

"The hunter father came across the desert like hell was on his heels, cut into the Cheiftain's fight…stupidly…blind hate…for his trouble the Wolf and Coyote laid him open…in front of his boys…savaged worse than either boy, so deep left teeth marks in his bones. It shook 'em." Celia paused and took a shallow breath and lickedthe inside of her teeth, "The Cheiftain saved his life, too. Got 'em away from the desert on his back."

Sam swallowed thickly and understood suddenly where the innate fear of wolves had come from. If he had been as young as this story told, barely eight, then he'd idolized his father. Watching him being savaged by animals that had only moments earlier torn Dean apart as well as himself. The two people in his life that had always protected him, always been grounding rocks, constants and in his childhood like superheroes, angels even, the destroyers of evil brought to their knees by common animals.

"The Coyote and the Wolf near lost their minds for the loss of prey and every passin' day Kaneonuskatew's grudge goes deeper and he's set his breed on the younger and the brother could feel it…he fell in a pool of fear so deep there was no way out of it. The Wolf has an obsession with the younger. He wants to finish the job he started…he' decided to take yer sight, Sam. Like ya did his."

Celia shivered and twisted to look towards the door blindly, one of her hands braced across her jaw and lips.

"What about-"

"The Coyote only wants to mess with yer head, Dean. He likes to hurt ya but he's a coward and knows I'm gonna tan his pelt. Kaneonuskatew ain't afraid of me." Celia muttered and pushed herself up to her feet, she swayed, the two brothers reacting in an instant to stop her from pitching over.

"Celia, when's your birthday?" Sam asked quietly. Dean looked at Sam like he was insane. Of all things he expected his brother to ask that was the last. It seemed to the elder Winchester that Sam was becoming more and more likely to do that though.

Celia seemed a little put off by the question, "October fifteenth." She pushed away from them. They started to follow.

"I'm alright." She muttered and riffled through the pile of clothes that Sam had rooted out, she took the medium tee shirt and smaller pair of jeans and draped a towel over her shoulder. She stepped out of the room and sight, scooping up the thrown bone hilt dagger from the floor as she went. Her limp was prominent but the pain seemed to have left her for the time being.

"She saw it." Sam said.

"What?"

"She saw all that happen. I did some digging about the totems." Sam brushed his fingers over the beaver carving around his neck and motioned towards the otter at Dean's throat. "There's a zodiac, Native American. I was born in May, Beaver and January is-"

"An otter." Dean agreed, putting two and two together.

"October fifteenth is under Crow. She saw what happened to us, she's the reason we're alive right now. In more ways than one." Sam muttered and pulled off his soaked tee shirt and started to dry himself off, wincing in pain from time to time as the very last of his sun burn was aggravated. Dean pulled his own soaked shirt over his head and wrung it out with a spatter of water hitting the linoleum floor.

"That makes a difference. There's been crows all over the place. Do you think that she's a shapeshifter too? A crow skinwalker? She sure as hell has the background for it." Dean grunted, thinking of Celia's confessed background being three Native American tribes, Nez Perce, Pawnee and Blackfoot, that were well know for their appreciation of animals and had some of the oldest lore concerning shapeshifters and skinwalkers.

Sam stared at Dean, "Dude, are you kidding? On top of everything else? I'm surprised that she hasn't got some kind of mental state." Sam shed his soaked jeans, tossing them over the bench and hauled on the dry ones from the ranger station's supply closet. They were a little snug at the waist and a little to long in the leg but Sam had suffered through worse. "Changeling, possessed, rancher, older sister, her brother's a Marine and been to Iraq and the Middle East like five times. There were some papers on his desk and I think he's being deployed again soon."

Dean stopped halfway through pulling the shirt over his head, a heartbeat of processing what Sam had said then pulled it the rest of the way over his chest.

"That's rough." He muttered, wondering what it would be like to have a living family member sent to war. Sure their dad had been a Marine but his action in Vietnam had been long before either he or Sam had been born. Dean was unsure if John had even met their mother before his tour in the Communist country. He wondered if family member 'tour in a war zone' worry was like 'dad on a hunt' worry.

"Yeah. But c'mon Dean, if there was anything else on her plate I'm pretty sure that she'd have some kind of psychotic break." Sam finished buttoning the jeans and pulled on the last tee shirt. "Besides. I've never heard of an avian skinwalker before."

"Its possible though." Dean muttered, struggling on his own pair of jeans then stomping on his soaked boots over dry socks Sam handed him.

"Possible but unlikely. Dean let it go. I don't think you're going to find a reason to kill her no matter how hard to prod and twist her situation." Sam grumbled.

Dean froze and jerked around to glare at Sam. Sam looked at him slightly startled at the dangerous look in his elder brother's eyes. Dean was bristling and growling softly in his throat but seemed at a loss what to say.

"Dean?" Sam asked unnerved.

"Shut up." Dean snapped, his tone so cold that it made Sam cringe. The younger brother was saved by a rapping of knuckles across the wood of the door.

"Ya ladies done paintin' yer faces? I made coffee." Celia called through the door then her corrupted and pained foot steps walked away from the door. Dean refused to look at his younger brother but grabbed the bottle of pain killers from the medical supplies and stormed through the door. He ripped off the cap and started to dig out a dangerous number of the painkillers, clutching them tightly in his palm and marched out into the hall and to the office. The red eyed woman was leaning against the counter next to the small refrigerator with her left leg slightly lifted off the floor. She's changed into the dry clothes, they were several sizes to big for her petite frame and hung off of her in way that if Dean had been calm enough to take note he would have thought that it was a good look for her. Celia looked like she was trying to get over a shell shaking experience in a hurry. She glanced up at him and cleared her throat, rubbing a hand back through her hair. She was pouring a mug of thick, black coffee and he roughly snatched it from under her hands.

"Well, yer welcome." She snorted and noticed the bottle and small pile of white pills in Dean's hand. He started to throw it all back. Celia snatched his wrist, gave it an expert twist and caused him to drop the handful of pills and bottle into the sink.

"The hell?!" Dean snarled, in no mood to humor Celia.

"Are ya tryin' to kill yerself?" Celia asked calmly. She hoped that whatever had been said between the brothers would keep Sam out of the way for a few minuets. This was the last place that Celia had planned to have an intervention but now good as ever.

"Red-"

"Dean, I know what ya been doin'."

This stilled Dean down to his bones.

"I don't-"

"Dean, don't play stupid, alright? Where the hell do ya think all those bottles went?" Celia voice was still, steady and calm.

Dean twitched in realization. "You took those?! All of them?! Those are mine! I paid for them!"

"Why?" Celia asked, pouring herself another cup of coffee and sipping it. Dean slammed his own mug down on counter, the hot liquid splashing up and scalding his hand and wrist. Dean snarled in rage. Everything seemed to be bent on making him angrier. He hissed and shook his hand out in pain. Celia quietly set her mug down in the spilled pool of brown liquid and caught Dean's hand. She pulled his arm forward and forced his hand under the faucet and she cranked on the cold water. He jumped when it struck his flesh but the cold seemed to shake him out of his slowly growing rage. He slumped where he stood, breathing out heavily and his arm went slack under Celia's hand.

The rancher turned his hands and arm over, exposing his inner wrist and then shut the water off.

"Thanks." Dean muttered.

"Just calm down for a minuet, alright?"

Dean grumbled, a low growling sound but said nothing. Celia braced her hands against the counter and sighed. She listened, training all her senses into listening for any sign of Sam. No foot steps, no breathing and no beating heart answered her ears.

She rose to her full height and turned to look at Dean.

"Dean, I took 'em because yer hurtin' yerself. On purpose. I know ya know yer doin' it. So don't play fool on me."

The elder Winchester thought that he would eventually be having this conversation with Sam, no Celia Northwind who a few days prior had been a complete stranger and evidently years before that a close friend. For some reason the conversation was suddenly a hundred time more uncomfortable. With Sam he could yell, bark back or just run out on him for a few hours and keep dodging the conversation or when it got to a real desperate point he could have the calm part of the conversation while Sam ranted and raved. But now…

He had the distinct feeling that this was what it was like to have a serious conversation with a mother. That you just had to stand still and suffer through it, there was no escaping a woman with conversation like that. They talked and followed and pressed and there was nothing you could do but listen. He could hardly get mad about it. It had been the same when they'd had serious conversations with Cassie, though Celia was rougher and tougher and made of clearly stronger stuff than Cassie. Not that the pretty moca skinned girl wasn't strong, it was Cassie's strength and independence that attracted him in the first place, but Celia was a different breed of strong. Grounded as a dogwood tree and steady as the sun. Cassie had some space, some give, Celia didn't. She didn't shy, didn't back down, didn't give. He had to listen and acknowledge, almost by force.

It was something about the female gender that forced the male to suck it up and face it and explain. Who ever it was that claimed the male gender the dominate one had never had to explain themselves to a woman in their lives.

Dean shifted and chanced a look up at Celia. She had fixed him with a calm eye and said nothing. Dean ground his teeth, she was forcing his hand, making him speak first.

"We'll talk about this-"

"Now." Celia cut him off, not allowing him any room to escape. Dean swallowed thickly.

"How did you…"

"Marcus Halen may be a small town doctor but he knows what substance abuse withdrawal looks like." Celia explained quietly, she going to take it easy now that he seemed like he was going to talk, face up. "I've never seen it, so ya might have got off. Until ya over dosed in my bathroom or just didn't wake up."

Dean flinched at the harsh tone and the truth in her words. He stayed very still and seemed to be waiting, he twisted his head slightly to the side and could hear the sound of Sam's sluggish foot steps coming down the hall. He thanked every star in the sky that his brother's presence was going to bail him out. Celia noticed and recognized the look in his eye.

"Don't think yer gonna get off, Winchester." Celia growled, dropping her voice as Sam's boot falls became clearer and louder. "I respect that ya want to keep this to yerself, its yer choice to tell him or not but sit with this, yer the one that's gonna leave him to put yer bones in the ground and on is own."

Dean jumped and shrank in on himself slightly. The words stung and bit worse than any ranting, lengthy speech about self destruction and the after effects of substance abuse. The fresh wound of having to lay his father to rest tore open again. He couldn't fathom laying that feeling down on Sam, or leaving him to live with the feeling of being completely alone. It was a haunting thought, the last living Winchester his baby brother.

"Ya can bet sure as hell being alone like that can break a spirit. I've seen is happen." Celia snapped. "We're havin' this conversation the second I get ya on yer own and don't ya dare try and avoid me."

Dean looked away from her and rubbed consciously at the still tingling flesh of his scalded hand. Sam stepped out of the hall, tugging at the slightly too big shirt and looked nervously at Dean, side stepping to give his elder brother more space than he really needed. He looked uncertain and the awkward hovering silence sank into their bones.

"We'll head back out in forty." Celia sighed and pulled the plug of the coffee maker out of the wall socket. She pushed the still steaming cup of spilled coffee into the sink, used a sponge to soak the remaining liquid after it and pulled out two new mugs, filling them both with the end of the coffee and pushing them towards the brothers.

Sam scooped up the mug and sipped the coffee. He instantly choked on the burning black liquid. Since he'd gotten to Nevada Sam had not been able to finish a whole cup of coffee. It was all too thick and strong for his lighter taste.

"God…" Sam choked. Celia smiled gently at him.

"Nevadans like our coffee as close to tar as it'll get, potent." Celia assured him, "We want to have two uses for everythin'. If it gets to cold we can use it to pave out roads."

Dean forced a sickly smile, the nagging feeling of being caught in a trap tugging at him.

"Sounds good." He muttered, gingerly lifting the cup from the counter.

"It's ready if ya throw a horseshoe in the pot and it stands up straight." Celia took a long swallow from the cup. Dean raised his eyebrows and took a deep draw. He coughed thickly after swallowing.

"Good…" He rasped out.

"Rangers get the best stuff." Celia muttered and set her coffee down so she could climb onto the counter to sit next to the sink. Dean reached out with an almost instinctive reflex and helped her keep weight off of her left leg. Once settled Celia lifted her coffee again. Sam sank into one of the rolling chairs next to the computer and Dean glanced at the second chair for a second before sufficing to lean against the counter on the other side of the sink.

The silence was heavy and slightly awkward, just enough to make Sam swivel the chair a little and Dean shift his weight and rub his still stinging hand across his face every few minuets.

"Why did we run from them?" Sam asked quietly. "I mean, we had the rifles and they're just animals."

"Just animals?" Celia snorted. "Sam ya really don't get it in the first run, do ya? That was a god. The Chieftain of the Wolves, Kaneonuskatew. And evidently he's taken the Owyhee pack for himself."

Celia took a draw from her mug and hung her head forward.

"That's bad." Sam made more of an agreeing statement than a question.

Celia sighed, "Its ain't good. Owyhees been messin' with the ponies but it just a helluva lot more dangerous and complicated. With fuckin' gods involved." Celia slid off of the counter and nearly collapsed, her left leg twisting painfully and Dean reacted with a now innate move to steady her, catching her under her arm and keeping her from hitting the floor. She nodded to Dean as she pulled out of his grip and limped towards the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk and poured some into her mug before setting it back.

"At least one thing cleared up though." Celia sighed and turned around to lean back against the refrigerator door. "Y'all are gonna be out of Nevada before this gets settled."

Sam choked again on his coffee and Dean looked up, confused.

"What are you talking about?" The elder brother rumbled.

"I want y'all to get the Impala fixed and put Nevada in her rearview…goddamn I cain't believe I'm sayin' this…but forget ya where here."

Dean and Sam looked like they may have just been slapped across their faces.

"Wait just one fucking second!" Dean barked and set his coffee down before he got to a point where he was going to slam it. "You've been nothing but pissed at me for having forgotten what I didn't know I forgot now you want it that way?! Barely talk to me. Won't look at me. What the hell is wrong with you!?!"

Celia calmly and proudly lifted her head. "I'll have ya know that I'm speakin' more to ya and Sam that I do to my own brother, sister and momma."

"What?" Sam choked on his coffee, interrupting what he'd hoped to allow his elder brother to address and finish alone. Over the course of the last few days he had gotten used to Celia either being absent or when she was around going for stretches hours on end in silence. And when she did speak with clipped short sentences to the point. The only time she talked in length was when she was telling a story or explaining some riding technique to them. Other than that kid Lucas a year ago Sam had never met someone who spoke less unless they were mute.

"I'm not the talkative type. Ya talk to much ya cain't listen." Celia lifted her chin and looked down at Sam with clear pride in the statement.

"Well, I guess-" Sam muttered.

"Shut up Sam!" Dean spat, his tone low, dangerous and made Sam jump. The younger brother knew that tone well and that best thing he could do was back off. When Dean got in a fit like this the best thing to do is get out of his eyesight for a while.

Celia glared around at the elder brother with disapproval in her eyes. She was hardly their father to bark at Dean about how to treat his brother, it was hardly her place but her smart mouth got in her way.

"Well I'm lookin' at ya now and I sure as hell don't like what I see." Celia snarled, setting down her mug with a sharp tap of ceramic on tile.

Dean snarl in his throat got louder and his shoulders tensed up, his face contorted in an ugly mask of rage but Celia and Sam who both knew him well saw the hurt deep in the green umber eyes. But Celia didn't lighten up, it looked like she was going to go through with this intervention right in front of Sam anyway.

"I knew ya changed, but my stupid hope that it would have been for the better." Celia stalked towards him, her own growl low in her throat, crowding his space intentionally. Dean's face remained pinched and hateful but he gave, retreating as Celia advanced, backing away from her like she was a bristling junkyard dog.

"Yer barkin' at yer brother, yer barkin' at me, drugs, ya lost all trust in others if all I've done is help ya and ya still cuff me to a fuckin' post! That shell of charm and smart-assed comments is as brittle as a day old calf's bones!"

Sam watched in sick fascination, only understanding half of what Celia was snarling at his elder brother but refusing to get close enough to understand for fear of being dragged into the fight that he was oddly reminded of being something like a clash of titans. It was like one of those nature shows that you accidentally switched to in the middle of the night and ended up watching the life and times of the African warthog simply because you couldn't stop. It was worse than an accident in the middle of rush hour.

"Yer ailin'! Sick, pale, drawn and god know when the last time ya got full nights sleep was! Ya always used to bounce back in a hurry but it's like ya don't want to get better!"

"I'm not. I'm not sick." Dean snarled out, still backing up.

"Bullshit! Yer stomach's practically stickin' to yer backbone, yer eyes are dull, I can see yer veins!" Celia reached forward and snatched his forearm, wrenching it around to expose the under side of his wrist. It was far too easy to see the fine blue and red lines under thin skin that looked even paler now that it was addressed. Dean ripped his arm out of her grip like her skin was fire, retreating several quick steps.

"What the hell pushed ya over enough to get anti-depressants that make my horse tranks look like aspirin in yer real name! That ya went to a certified doctor as Winchester!?! What's wrong with me, what's wrong with ya!?!"

It startled Sam more than it startled Dean when the elder Winchester made contact with the far wall. Dean pressed back, trying to sink into the wall and finding no give only pressed back as flat as he could when Celia close the rest of the distance and pressed into his space, her head tilted back so she could glare at him, red eyes burning. Dean swallowed thickly.

"Dad died." He muttered, low, sickly and weak. It contrasted oddly with his anger twisted features. "He died to save my life." Sam shrank down into chair and tried desperately not to look at Dean and Celia.

"Yeah, I heard. So?" Celia said heartlessly and made both brothers jerk and look her like she was a different animal. Dean gaped at her.

**…**

**Uh oh...read and review y'all... The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	18. Suffer the Same

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER!**

**Sorry to everyone for having taken so long to get a chapter up but I hit a block, y'all…s'all good now… your all faithful for sticking with me. Love you!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied.****"  
-Friedrich Nietzsche **

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**Chapter Eighteen: Suffer the Same**

"**You don't live in the world all alone. Your brothers are here too."**

**-Albert Schweitzer**

**…**

Of all the things in the world that could have happened Celia was happily blessed to get a rarity. What she expected to happen did and she was actually prepared for it.

Dean lunged at her, grabbed her by the collar, whirled her around and slammed her forcefully into the wall. Celia's head snapped back in whiplash and cracked against the wall. She ground her teeth as she felt the thin and fragile collar bones in her neck bend; thankfully not break as Dean held her against the wall a full six inches off the floor. His center of balance was thrown forward and all his weight was planted and pushing against her upper ribcage, collar and throat. Pinning and strangling the smaller and lighter woman easily.

Of course Celia was as much of a fighter as Dean ever was and she was hardly going to just let him go around slamming her into walls.

Celia let out a decisive snort in his face, ignored every ounce of pain in her left knee and hauled her legs up and wrapped them tightly around Dean's torso, about mid way down his chest. The red eyed rancher locked her ankles, wrapped her hands tightly around Dean's wrists and gave a serious warning squeeze.

Dean bit back a gasp as he felt his ribs bend suggestively and the air force out of his lungs dangerously. She was still squeezing, constricting lethally around his ribcage and Dean knew for a fact that that she had the strength, leverage and thanks to himself the position to crush his chest.

The elder Winchester lightened the pressure on her windpipe and Celia's legs stopped putting weight on his chest, but her grip didn't loosen.

Both titans settled at the impasse. Dean could throttle Celia and Celia could crush Dean. An otherwise promising and suggestive position was extremely uncomfortable, painful and threatening. Dean and Celia wore similar battle hardened masks. Teeth grit, eyes darkened and dangerous and chests heaving with excitement and stress of the last few developed seconds. It was hard to tell which was the cobra and which was the mongoose.

Sam got to his feet the second that Dean had grabbed Celia by the throat but now he stood uncertain who needed his help more. He shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Dean and Celia glared at each other for a few long seconds, hearts slamming into their ribs.

"Bitch." Dean finally snapped out. Celia let out a curt huff that could barely pass as a laugh but she said nothing. "You don't care-"

"No, ya don't care." Celia spat. "Yer a goddamn disgrace, no respect for the dead. Usin' yer father's death as an excuse to destroy yerself. Low. Class."

Dean grit his teeth and the pressure slammed back into her throat and Celia tightened her legs like a vice around his ribs. It left them both choking, gasping for air and reluctantly they eased the pressure on each other otherwise Sam would be dealing with a passed out brother and rancher.

"You don't have any right." Dean snarled.

"Who the hell are ya tryin' to push, Winchester?" Celia hissed in his face. "I have plenty right. At least I respected the man-"

"I RESPECTED HIM MORE THAN ANYONE!" Dean snarled.

"If ya call that respect I could tell ya he'd never want it! Yer shamin' yer father in his grave! He's got to be rollin'." Celia spat back in his face.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW! YOU NEVER KNEW HIM!" Dean gave her a violent shake and she squeezed his ribs, electing gasps from both sides of the party.

But it seemed like Celia had taken the worse side of what he said.

"_I didn't know him!?!"_ Celia snarled, her eyes blazing blood colored fire. "I may not know as much 'bout him as his sons did _or maybe I do_ but I know he'd tan yer hide six ways for what yer doin' to yerself and yer brother! How _dare_ ya disgrace his sacrifice by lettin' the beast get ya! The Coyote! All that man ever did was give his life to ya boys!"

"HE SHOULDN'T HAVE!"

"HE WANTED TO YA UNGRATEFUL BRAT!" Celia snapped, her teeth actually clacked together. Dean stared at her silence, maybe he was out of breath or just trying to gather himself back to the attack, but Celia didn't give him the chance.

"That's all that good fathers want to do! Give everythin' they've got to their pups until there's nothin' left to give and they wish they had more and pray to whatever gods they have that they've done enough, given enough! Good fathers break themselves and give their lives for their babies and goddamn yer yeller for belittin' what he's done for ya by makin' yerself sick on little white pills and cheap drinks!"

Sam stiffened, realization dawning on him why this conversation had gone so bad in a hurry. He understood Dean defending their father at every turn but why he had reacted so badly as to throw Celia into a wall. Sam stared at the back of his elder brother's head, gasping and feeling a horrible swelling of guilt, betrayal and pain welling in his stomach and hardening into a rock.

"Dean?" Sam's voice practically cracked and Dean flinched at the sound of his voice like Sam had just sunk a knife into Dean's ribs.

The knife probably would have hurt less than the distress in his little brother's voice. Dean turned to take his anger out on Celia. He bared his teeth like an animal and squeezed her throat sharply and violently, catching Celia by surprise. She gasped wetly and let out a strangled whimper of pain before she growled and tightened her legs around his ribs.

"Stop!" Dean barked in pain.

"After ya!" Celia snarked back. "Ya deserve the goddamn Coyote if the way ya repay him for a savin' yer fuckin' coward carcass is killin' yerself! Ya should be down on yer knees bloody and thankin' the gods that they graced yer tattered hide for a man like him to raise ya! A lesser creature than him would have left ya for his own pain the night of yer momma's death!"

"SHUT UP!" Dean roared, squeezing harder.

"He'd of never left ya if he could have avoided it! He loved ya and yer brother more than life!" Celia barked back, ignoring his command.

"WHO THE HELL TOLD YOU THAT!?!" Dean wailed, his voice cracking in disbelief and emotional trauma.

He didn't believe a word of it, not after he found out why John died, not after the last thing he was told by his father was that he might have to kill his baby brother, not after John left him alone, abandoned him in death.

"HE DID WHEN MY DAD DIED!" Celia screamed back.

Sam froze, he'd assumed from broken remembrance of that morning that seemed a million years gone that Celia father had died nearly twenty five years ago. It didn't add up, John would have been a happy man with a three year old Dean and a possibly pregnant Mary in tow…wait…

Dean was staring at Celia like she was a whole new animal. Both of them were shivering and their chests heaving desperately, Celia's blood colored eyes were brimmed in salt tears. She took a wavering almost pained breath. But Dean had fixed her with a look, begging imploring look of painful question.

"Nathaniel died when I was eight…" Celia choked out around Dean's strangling grip, it was slowly loosening, "…he was houndin' down this bastard. Murderer, rapist…and a fuckin' shapeshifter, took some girl out of her front yard. Nathaniel was so hell bent to get him, bring him down didn't even realize the bastard led him right out in traffic on purpose…didn't realize it until the Suburban…"

Celia's voice broke and both Dean and Sam were assaulted by the horrific image of Nathaniel Greer, normally smiling, good natured father doing his job. Trying to be a cop, protect someone, get vengeance for a destroyed child suddenly plowed down in pursuit by a SUV driver on their cell phone.

"Wasn't his case, out in fuckin' Elko…some fuckin' seer told him he needed to be there…she told him that a vision said that if he went everythin' would turn out fine…she fuckin' lied…on purpose because it was her goddamn daughter she wanted saved…she lied and sent him to his grave for her own gain…"

The words were spat out bitterly into Dean's face, but he didn't waver or blink. Sharp green eyes locked on the red haired rancher he pinned to the wall by her throat. Sam and Dean both shivered inwardly. Dean looked passed all the fear for his brother's life in Celia's presence and sympathized.

Sam swallowed thickly, "Red, whoever the seer was, she was trying to protect her child--"

Celia's red eyes turned on Sam in revulsion, "SHE LIED! THAT FUCKIN' _BUIDAIGWADE_ LIED TO HIM AND GOT HIM KILLED! LEFT HIM ALIVE LONG ENOUGH TO SUFFER BEFORE DEATH! THE FIRST ONE TO EVER GIVE A SHIT 'BOUT ME SHE SLAUGHTERED HIM AND TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME! HE WAS MY **FATHER**!" Celia actually lunged at Sam for defending the seer, awkwardly pushing against Dean and the wall, finding no give and was shoved back hard by the elder Winchester. She threw her head back and slumped against the wall, forgetting to give Dean a squeeze around the chest for pushing her into the wall again. Her chest was heaving erratically. Tears streaking her face, rolling across her throat and collecting in the shallow dip at the base of her throat before soaking into the fabric of the borrowed shirt. Dean felt her shivering under his hands and weight.

"They should all be destroyed…" Celia rasped out, practically choking on the words.

Sam shivered and took a single step backwards from Celia and his brother, somewhere the sympathy pains that he got for victims of their world bubbled into a rock of guilt as if Sam himself had lied to Nathaniel Greer and sent him rushing headlong into his own death.

"John held my hand when we buried him…stayed close, made sure we were okay…" Celia rasped out, she brought her eyes back down to meet Dean's hard green ones. "So did ya…"

Dean blinked slowly, as if it was hard for him to understand what he was being told. He pulled back, letting go of her throat and quickly grabbing her left leg as it loosened around his chest, softening and easing her landing. Celia's right boot hit the earth and Dean eased her left down. She rasped out a gasp of pain, wet breath over her throat, she draped and arm around Dean's neck for support, digging her nails deep into the soft flesh of his throat. Dean pulled back and Celia let out a pained help, collapsing when her weight settled on her own feet. The elder Winchester quickly caught her arm to keep her head from connecting painfully with the wall as she slid down to sit on the floor. Dean followed, kneeling next to her.

Celia panted and hissed in pain, carefully moving her left leg to a more comfortable position.

"Ya ain't the only one whose father clocked out before his time and left ya in the dust with nothin' but a hole in yer heart, Dean." Celia's voice quieted, dropped, but the firmness was still deep in it. "Don't use it as an excuse, it's not good blood. John taught me that."

Dean let out a shallow breath.

"I'm sorry about Nathaniel." Dean whispered, leaning close into her ear.

"I'm sorry 'bout John." Celia said, loud enough for both brothers to hear. Sam let his shoulders sag, tension flowing out of his body. The impossibly tall young man took a few strides, twisted and leaned back against the wall. He let his legs buckle and slid down the wall on Celia's right side. Dean settled back on her left.

The trio stared ahead, looking at the rumpled files on the other side of the room and not even casting sidelong glances at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

"God we're fucked up." Celia muttered bluntly.

Sam choked, trying to muffle his own laugh. Dean just broke into a weary smile.

The silence was somewhere caught between forced awkwardness and comfortable ease.

"How." Dean asked quietly.

Celia twisted her head around and looked at him with raised eyebrows. She red eyes flashed briefly to the hand still resting lightly on her arm but Dean seemed to be unaware that he was touching her.

"How what?"

"Did our dad know your dad?"

"The war."

Dean, Sam and Celia all let out the same breath at the same time.

"They were in the same company. Nathaniel, John and Rafe. Uncle Rafe."

"Your Uncle Rafe?" Sam asked.

"Naw, yer Uncle Rafe. Raphael Jankin was yer momma's elder brother. Uncle Rafe."

"I didn't know we had an uncle." Dean muttered.

"He died in Vietnam. Long before any of us were born. He's the reason ya boys are here." Celia sighed heavily. "The three of them, thicker than mud and ornery as hell. But same as any they had families and made each other that age old promise to take care of them if anythin' happened. Uncle Rafe took some shrapnel--" Celia reached up and tapped the base of her throat, then traced up towards her ear. "He didn't suffer."

"Damn." Dean muttered, feeling pain rippling up his throat in sympathy for his long dead ancestor. He reached up with his free hand to touch his neck. Sam's chest expanded sharply then exhaled.

"Pictures look like ya, Sam." Celia muttered. Dean and Sam perked up sharply.

"You have pictures?" Dean asked sharply.

"Too many. At home."

"Goddamn! C'mon! We could have been looking at pictures this whole time!" Dean barked.

Celia mumbled, "Relax, we'll look at 'em next chance we get, alright?"

"Why didn't you tell us everything in the first place?" Sam asked quietly.

"It's not my place." Celia sighed.

Dean growled deep in his chest, but it was low and muffled. More like an irritated purr. She'd said that already, and again there was no explanation. Sam looked ready to argue and Dean sent him a look and a slight shake of his head. Sam sighed instead of speaking.

"So Raphael died--" Dean prompted, eager for more history of his own family, that he knew so little of personally.

"Yeah. When their enlistments were up John and Nathaniel booked. War wasn't fun anymore with one of the Caballeros gone." Celia shifted, her back pressing into the wall and she flinched when her knee moved.

"_The Three Caballeros_." Sam muttered with a small smile and Dean looked questioningly at his younger sibling. Sam took a second to grasp a good comparison.

"Batman, Superman and the Flash." Sam said over Celia's head and Dean's head bobbed in understanding.

"And John and Nathaniel went straight to the Jankin's place, brought all of Rafe's thatch to them and explained what happened."

"Wouldn't the government let the family know?" Sam asked. Celia scoffed.

"The government sent ya a letter that said 'we're sorry to inform ya'. It never said anythin' 'bout what _happened_. Ya can't understand the kind of closure that ya get from understandin' what actually happened." Celia sighed, having personally suffered the need to know what happened. "Yer momma's kin were real grateful, invited Nathaniel and John to stay and over for the holidays and yer daddy was twitter painted when he laid eyes on Mary. Followed her with his tongue hangin' out." Celia snickered a little, Dean smiled at Sam and nodded. He remembered faintly the way that John had doted on their mother. Especially when she'd been pregnant with Sam.

"Sweet on her from the start." Celia emphasized, "And hell did he have a time workin' himself out if he was upsettin' Rafe dead in war by chasin' his baby sister." Celia rubbed the back of her neck.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, having a hard time picturing the man that had raised him nervous and unsettled by the idea of upsetting a spirit.

"Hell naw." Celia twisted around and looked at him, "If ya had a little sister ya'd know how protective big brothers can be."

"I know all about over protective big brothers." Sam countered and earned a glare from Dean over Celia's horns.

"Not if ya was a girl. Shut up." Celia turned in the same instant and cut Dean off from making some low balled comment about Sam being feminine. Dean pined at the lost opportunity and Sam smiled smugly.

"I have a baby sister and I swear to god if someone don't treat her right or if I don't like him best thing he can do is turn around and walk away 'cause I promise ya I'll tan his hide six ways and leave him for the Coyotes. Baby sisters change ya." Celia assured.

Dean stifled a cough deep in his chest, he had had more than his fair share of run ins with elder brothers for one-night stands or temporary high school flings.

"Rafe died. And most of the clan started to die off--"

"Are any of them alive?" Sam asked sharply. The thought struck Dean hard sideways and he twisted instantly wanting to know if there was some slim possibility that there was an obscure family member in the wind.

Celia looked a little upset and sorrowful. "I'm not sure."

Sam and Dean drooped a little. There was a hanging silence only broke by the thumping of Dean and Sam's excited hearts.

"When Nathaniel died…John held up with their deal from their days of combat. He stuck with Rosa and Elijah and me. Made sure we were alright." Celia said the word bitterly. "Same way that Nathaniel was there for him and ya boys when Mary passed away… we all took care of each other…we were all hurtin'…"

"Still hurting." Sam muttered and he lifted his arm up and reached to drape it around Celia's shoulders. She lifted her head forward, Sam rested his arm across her shoulders and against the wall. Celia's head dropped back, pillowing on Sam's arm. Sam stretched out and squeezed Dean's shoulder. The elder brother allowed the contact for a few seconds then shrugged him off. Dean got to his feet and took a few strides across the room before stopping and turning around to face them. Sam and Celia looked up at him expectantly.

"I don't want to talk about it." Dean said flatly.

"Now." Sam and Celia both said just as flatly. Dean snorted and shook his head.

"We're talking about it." Sam assured bluntly.

"Soon." Celia pressed.

Dean shook his head and waved them off, stepping around towards the refrigerator, he pulled open the freezer rooted out an ice pack.

"Dean, yer sick." Celia said.

"I'm not sick!" Dean barked and threw the frozen chemicals at Celia. She awkwardly caught it. Sam and the red eyed woman shared a glance that clearly said _denial_. Dean muttered under his breath and stepped back over, awkwardly dropping himself to the floor on Celia's left. He sulked and the younger Winchester and rancher left him alone. They stared straight ahead, Celia shifted the ice pack around in her hands.

Dean roughly took it back, scooted forward and pressed it into her knee, holding it in place. She hissed but did nothing else. Sam's arm tightened a little around her neck then loosened again.

"I just don't want ya getting' mixed up with desert gods…"

"We can handle it--" Dean grumbled.

"Help handle it." Sam amended.

Celia grunted, the awkward, almost shifting silence left the three of them separated, adrift and somehow lost.

A bone rattling howl rose, pitching far to close for comfort; rattling, singing, wailing and dying. Sam's chest hitched in a silent whimper. Dean and Celia both growled, soft low and comfortingly. Celia instinctively nudged over, pressing closer to Sam. Dean shifted to follow, keeping the ice pack pressed into Celia's knee, but his chest puffed out and his shoulders squared a little. He was instinctively making himself bigger. With the other two growling softly, almost reassuring Sam, he puffed his own chest, grit his teeth and managed his own soft growl.

In a hair's breath of time they connected, braiding together and bonding with similar pains and the reminder of the outside world.

**…**

_Dean blinked, breathing in slowly. _

_The blue eyed mustang cocked his ears at him, breathing in his face. Warm moist air brushing over his skin. _

_He lifted a heavy hand and rested it on the horse's nose. Feeling the warmth and solidity of flesh. _

_The mustang yanked his head back and up, swinging his face around forcing Dean's hand and wrist to twist sharply and painfully. _

Dean's eyes blinked open as the pain in his wrist intensified. He shifted forward, rolling his weight around to pull his hand free from under his hip. He shook his hand out with a soft hiss and rubbed it across his face. Dropping his hand away his vision went fuzzy sharply then tried to come back into focus.

Dean let his weight relax back against the wall at his back, thumping his head harshly against the wall. He growled a whimper at the feeling of countless kinks and stiffness blossomed in his spine and muscles and pain bubbled in his brain. He tried his best to avoid whining and sufficed with a groan.

"Ya alright?" Dean twisted around to face Celia, her face blurred for a few seconds. He was still sitting on the floor next to her. Sam on her far side had slipped lower, slumping onto the floor and fallen asleep with his head pillowed on an arm. The younger Winchester's free arm was draped across Celia's lap. Hand slack, the limb so long that his finger tips touched the floor on the other side of Celia's hip. There seemed no intent in an otherwise possessive action was more of an accident in sleep. Dean felt somewhere deep in his chest a low growl start in his diaphragm. He resisted the urge to reach out and throw Sam's arm off of Celia's lap.

"Dean."

"My vision's blurry.' Dean muttered, letting his head fall back against the wall again, more gently than before. He felt her shift, a blurry glance watched her gently lift Sam's arm out of place and she moved forward. Celia shifted around to crouch next to him. Her left leg seemed stiff, the knee not giving much room for her to flex. Dean felt dizzy and flushed, his stomach rolling too much for him to try and fight her off. He let Celia gently lift his eyelids and look in his pupils. It made his stomach turn the way she kept blinking from focus to haze and back again.

He felt her fingers gently press into his throat, putting light pressure on his Adams apple, voice box and jugular vein. Her hands gently moved to his temples.

"Yer temperatures up and yer pulse is a little fast." Celia said quietly. Dean mumbled a little but gave no real response. "Does yer stomach hurt?"

Dean nodded before he stopped himself, his teeth clenched in pain. It felt like his brain was rolling around in his skull.

"When did I fall asleep?" He muttered.

"'Bout twenty minutes ago. I think ya've relapsed." Celia muttered. Dean felt her lift one of his eye lids again. "Count backwards from ten."

"What? Why?" Dean rasped, trying to look at her, his eyelid still held up so she could see his eye.

"Just do it."

"Ten…nine…eight…um…"

"Seven." Celia prompted.

"Seven…six…this is stupid…"

"Are ya gonna finish?"

"Finish what?"

"Yeah, ya've relapsed." Celia said decisively, but she had a feeling inwardly that he had never quite gotten over it. It wasn't a matter of Dean wanting to finish. He couldn't finish counting, this is what long term heatstroke did. It attacked the brain. If it lasted much longer Dean could sustain permanent brain damage. It was the natural danger of fevers and hot blood flowing over the brain and nerve cells.

"Dean, I want to put ya in a hospital." Celia said, rising stiffly and stepping towards the ranger's refrigerator, she reached into the freezer and tugged out an icepack. The one Dean had pressed into Celia's knee was melted and lying on the floor like a dead animal.

"No hospitals." Den managed to rasp. Sam shifted in his sleep, rolling over onto his stomach.

"Dean, are ya aware that this could kill ya." Celia asked quietly, she crossed back to his side and crouched down again. She pressed the ice pack into the side of his throat. Dean gasped quietly, but relaxed as the feeling of cooled blood started to flow up his neck and into his brain. His vision cleared in a hurry. Inwardly he counted down from ten to one, but he fumbled through it mentally. Dean leaned into the pressure of her hand.

"How's your knee?" Dean asked quietly, avoiding what she said.

"S'alright." Celia muttered. Dean opened his eyes and inspected Celia's knee from his angle. It looked relatively normal, not any bigger but he was unsure if it was alright, the way she awkwardly kept weight off of it told him otherwise. Dean shut his eyes and just focused on letting cold blood flow through his head and down into his chest.

"Dean, yer sick."

"I know…" He muttered, the defeat was deep in his voice. Celia looked a little startled but not displeased with the admission. He felt her hand lightly brush through his hair.

"Good. What are ya going to do about it?" Celia asked.

Dean stayed quiet, his eyes closed. Silence hung for a minuet.

"Dean, I think I'm goin' to leave ya and Sam here."

His eyes snapped open. "No."

"Dean, ya and yer brother aren't up for this. I'll finish the run, get my truck and come back to get ya. Just stay here and take it easy." Celia pressed.

"No." Dean growled and pushed her hands back.

"Yer a goddamn Appaloosa's rear end." Celia growled. They both froze as Sam groaned and shifted again, the young man dug his face into his elbow and sighed heavily. They relaxed again and looked at each other.

"No." Dean pressed again.

"Why hell are ya tryin' to make yerself sicker than ya already are? Why?" The look in her eyes made Dean swallow thickly, and drop his eyes from her face.

"I don't know…"

"Ya must. Somewhere in there ya must know. Do ya understand what yer doin'? How yer hurtin' yerself and Sammy and anyone that ever gave a damn 'bout ya dead or alive?"

Dean refused to meet her eyes, shame he hadn't felt since his childhood bubbled to life in his chest.

"Dean, yer hurtin' me." Celia pressed her hand into her chest, just below her throat. This dragged Dean's eyes up to her face.

"I don't even know you." He muttered as if it was a good enough excuse. Celia looked like he had probably slapped her. He probably would have been better off if he had done that. Her pain was clear on her face, then she shut off. The same way she broke herself off of physical pain and trauma like her knee.

She dropped the ice pack to the floor next to him.

Dean fumbled, feeling guilt and frustration rush into his throat. Celia rose in a fluid movement and turned on her heel.

"Red, wait--" He tried, she waved a hand at him and moved across the room in a few heated stride. Each step of her left foot seemed pained, a visible limp.

"Red! Celia!"

She didn't look at him and stalked down the hall towards the door and barn at the end. She pulled the door open, passed through and nearly slammed it behind her.

Dean snarled several curses at himself.

He should have known better. The way that she had been taking care of him and Sam. He knew she was angry at him for forgetting everything. As much as it was out of his control he knew that she blamed him in some way for the loss. Dean gently tapped his head back against the wall behind him until his vision started to blur again. He felt a hole starting to burn into his chest, like a spike of heat in his heart.

He always knew how to pick out a girl's line, it was almost an instinct when it came to his ability to dance around it and keep just out of reach of an explosion. At the very least for a night or two. But Celia was so complex, her boundary would seem to dance in and out of reach. He was never sure if he was pushing it or not.

It seemed like he had finally crossed it. It felt worse than all the little tinges of guilt he felt over the years for ditching girls bound together. Worse than letting his father down. It rivaled failing Sam. It was the same floundering, dull ache that pounded against him like a wave. It was like drowning, all consuming.

"Fuck." He muttered and went quiet, his mind turning over and over what he had just done.

**…**

Celia snarled under her throat. "Fuckin' Winchesters." Celia snarled and crossed to where the three horses were chewing their way through the bale of hay and Buckshot lifted his head from sleep.

Celia glanced at her watch. She could just as easily saddle up Blackbird, take the dog and leave the brothers there at the ranger's station. But knowing them they'd saddle up in a heartbeat and come after her, get themselves lost and slaughtered by a predator or hit by lightening. Or the best yet eaten by a Thunderbird.

Celia had to admit she wasn't having a hard time imagining Dean being torn apart and eaten by a bird with a twenty five foot wingspan.

"'I don't even know ya'" She mocked ill temperedly. "Like I don't fuckin' care 'bout his scrawny hide!"

Buckshot lifted his head and whined quietly at her.

"What the hell is wrong with men?! Huh, Buck? What the fuck is wrong with that son of a bitch?!"

Buckshot's ears twisted back a little.

"Oh, Jesus. Mary, I'm sorry." Celia said looking skyward. "He's just…goddamn! To much like John for his own good! If this is what he'd be like if he never set foot in the desert then I wish he'd never come back! At least then I could have this image of him, ya know!?! Untouched, uncorrupted! If I never saw him again I would have been better off! ...That ain't true…Who the hell did this!?! Why!?!"

Buckshot whined and pushed himself tiredly up to his haunches.

"Why, alright? Goddamn, everything we've done and suffered. What bastard decided to take that from us!

We had some rough times but shit I mean we were happy! They had a home they could come to, I had my best friends. YA JUST CAN'T LEAVE US ALONE, RIGHT!?! ALWAYS GOTTA BE SOMETHIN'?!?" Celia snarled, she yanked off her hat and threw it to the ground. She buried her hands into her hair and around her horns. She pulled so hard that she felt her skin tightening.

Her hand moved to cover her face. The three horses and Buckshot looked between each other, as close to worry on their faces as possible.

"Why just them…if yer gonna do this let me have the chance too…" She practically prayed, begging to be struck by the same bolt of lightening that took an entire childhood away from Dean and Sam. "It's not fair…"

Buckshot pinned his ears and whined and let out a sharp half bark. Celia looked up at him.

"What the hell do ya want me to do!?!" She barked back at the dog. "There's nothin'! Alright!?! And I'm stuck tellin' 'em all the shit they've been through if I want to keep 'em alive! Ya honestly think I want to have nightmares 'bout the way that Kaneonusskatew was chewin' into Sammy's skull!?!"

Buckshot woofed and tipped his ears forward.

Celia bristled, baring her teeth, "Ya wheren't there, ya don't…goddamn none of them could even breathe…what the hell do I do…"

Buckshot whined and cocked his head to the side. Then he rose to his feet turned in a tight circle once. A way since puppyhood that the German Shepherd had expressed to the people around him that he wanted to try again. Do it over.

"START OVER!?! Yer fuckin' with me! How the hell do ya start when all ya can think 'bout is the hell ya suffered through together?! It's already fucked up, even if then! He doesn't trust me for a hair's breath and I'm seriously startin' to get rubbed the wrong way!"

Buckshot snorted and Blackbird shook his head with a low rumbling groan. A queasy sort of sound. Celia glared up at him.

"Oh yer absolutely hilarious." Celia spat out sarcastically. Blackbird shook his head again, then swung around to lightly nip at his shoulder.

"What the hell am I askin' ya two for?" Celia snarled, glaring at the stud and dog. The two animals cocked their ears. "Yer males."

Chambeau and Widowmaker nickered in agreement. The big black mare kicking one of her hind legs. The two males pinned their ears and snorted in disagreement. Celia rubbed her hands across her face and scratched her nails into her skin.

"Why…I just want to know…" She muttered and limped towards the drying saddles, tack and blankets.

"When the hell did it start goin' down?" she pulled free the black and brown blanket and looped dark leather bridle over her shoulder, stepped over to Blackbird and draped it over his back. The buckskin quietly accepted the bit back between his teeth and he fitted the leather straps over his halter and head. She threw the reins comfortably over Blackbird's neck.

The buckskin swung his head around and snorted at her. Celia glanced at him and mumbled under her breath in a Native American language. Blackbird pawed at the earth with another groan. Celia listened to the sounds rumbling deeply in the horse's gut like it was good advice. He hefted the saddle and set it lightly on his back. The half ton animal shifted and snorted, rumbling and muttering as only horses could. One of the noises must not have agreed with her because she gave the cinch an unnecessary tug too tight around his barrel. The buckskin snorted and swung his head around and nipped Celia sharply in her shoulder.

"Fuck!" Celia snapped at the pain, she stepped away from the animal and rubbed vigorously at her shoulder. "Ya bastard, what was that for?" Celia growled and lifted the shirt sleeve. She exposed some of her tattooing to the air and inspected the bruised and quickly reddening place on her flesh.

Blackbird stomped a hoof loudly on the earth threw his ears back and snorted. Celia took a few seconds of rubbing her shoulder before bracing her hand across her brow. Blackbird sniffed and rubbed his nose over Celia's elbow. He stepped to the side and rubbed thick lips over the place in her shoulder he'd just bitten.

Another lapse back into early days of life and training. Blackbird has been a biter when Celia had started schooling him, she had quickly cured him of it.

"Help. Not hurt. I get it." Celia muttered and reached up to scratch under the horse's chin. Blackbird continued to nicker and groan deep in his chest as Celia finished tacking him up. She moved to Chambeau, fitting her bridle on and starting with the saddle.

Very suddenly the horse went quiet. Celia didn't say anything just continued to fit the saddle into place, buckling the breast collar up.

Blackbird swung his head around with a creak of leather and a clink of metal, he sniffed in Buckshot's face then nickered in Celia's direction. Buckshot woofed quietly. Both noises seemed to be trying to prompt a response.

Celia sighed and rested her hands on the leather seat of Chambeau's saddle. He could almost feel a lingering warmth from Dean having ridden in place so long. Her fingers toyed over the stitching in the leather.

Buckshot woofed again.

"Alright!" Celia snapped, "Alright…I just…it's just…not fair…"

Buckshot pinned his ears skeptically. As always Celia always fell back onto what she knew, what she was raised on.

"Nathaniel always said ya cain't think of yerself first."

Buckshot barked in approval.

"They just lost John and now…" Celia rubbed a hand across her face again and leaned her forehead against the saddle seat, "Dean's sick and Sammy's drownin'…like I seriously need to be bitchin' 'bout the past." Celia swallowed thickly and rubbed her face again. It was quickly becoming a nervous tick.

She heaved a deep breath and finished tacking up Chambeau and moved to Widowmaker, fitting the bridle, blanket, saddle and chest collar into place. Celia took up a broom and started sweeping the loose hay toward the bar doors to the outside. The animals watched her shove the debris into the rain as it was quickly soaked up and sunk into the mud.

Celia tapped the side of the broom on the floor and set it back against the wall. She glanced at her watch. If she wanted to keep her schedule and make it back to Wounded Heart ranch and still hope for a little time to search the territory for her missing horse, the cremello Honeycatcher.

She hesitated, thinking again about mounting up and riding out without them. She glanced at her watch a final time before heading towards the door and hall again.

She stopped.

"What brought 'em back?" She muttered, unable to make a connection of how Dean and Sam would end up in Tuscarora without memory of it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. A little shorter than I like but the block was horrible. Read and Review please, The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	19. Body Language

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

* * *

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER!**

**Sorry to everyone for having taken so long to get a chapter up but I hit a block, y'all…s'all good now… your all faithful for sticking with me. Love you!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Nineteen: Body Language**

"**There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy**.**"**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

"You sure we're out of range?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, this is lion territory, Kaneonuskatew wouldn't put pad to earth here. HONEYCATCHER!" Celia whistled and looked through the rain and dark. Her voice was a shock, echoing over flat lands. The German Shepherd draped across the saddle in front of her lifted his head and barked. Buckshot's wind had yet to get back to him. Sam tugged the Stetson lower down his ears, feeling the now steady drizzle rolling down the brim, spattering on the back of his poncho and rolling beyond sensation.

Chambeau nickered, it was the only sound coming from Dean's direction. The elder brother had fallen into silence. Probably deep in thought.

"But-"

"Wolves don't cross puma, puma don't cross bear, bear don't cross wolves and ain't nobody cross the Birds." Celia growled, her eyes scanning the terrain,"Sam, I'll happily explain the politics of the desert spirits if ya have a week to sit still, but until then will ya help me find my horse? 'CATCHER!" Celia whistled again. Sam sighed and pressed his tongue into the roof of his mouth and whistled.

Dean stayed quiet, his eyes looking dully ahead. Celia cast a look back at him.

"What's up with you?" Sam asked quietly, pulling back the reins and setting Widowmaker's pace back.

He blinked, looking slightly startled at him like he had never seen him before. The elder Winchester shrugged slightly. His eyes turning forward again and brushing Sam off.

Celia twisted around and whistled. Shrill and high, begging for an answer.

A sharp nicker of noise called back, muffled by rain. Celia whipped around towards the noise and whistled again.

She was answered by a whinny and her hope died, she new the pitch of her cremello's voice and this one was far lower.

"Ponies. C'mon." She turned the buckskin stud towards the noise and the ground sloped suddenly and the horses skidded a little before Celia asked for a lope, Sam followed on her heels but Dean hung back distracted, only following because Chambeau ignored him and trotted after her herd mates. A few hundred yards and a small band of mustangs broke out of the rain and darkness. They shied at the sight of them and the stallion of the group herded his mares away at a gallop. Celia quickly counted them.

"That's better." She muttered, slowing Blackbird down and steering the stud back towards the boarder and away from the mustangs.

"What are you talking about, there were only seven animals." Sam asked, remembering that the Omani herd was in the dozens.

"Mustang herds, bands, aren't supposed to be much higher than ten. When the herds get big like Omani's they're forced, it's unnatural. They hate it, makes 'em sick." Celia muttered. "Breakers make big herds."

Sam nodded, remembering the conversation concerning 'breakers' or factors that shattered horses' mind and natural habits by sheer force. Sam's eyes followed the sound of the mustangs in the dark until they faded.

Another ten miles out, two more small bands of mustangs, continued rain and chill that sank deep into their bones and they turned sharply south following the Elko County boarder on the last half of the patrol back towards Tuscarora. The time was well passed midnight and Dean had continued his vigil of silence and when she looked back at him all Celia could see were sad, dull eyes. Celia continued to whistle but she too lapsed into silence as they closed in on Desert Trail Road.

Sam felt awkwardly alone. Dean, he assumed, preoccupied with the thoughts of his now exposed self-destruction and Celia, again he assumed, trying to accept that her cremello import was dead. Sam just sort of felt out of place without an overpowering inner turmoil that drowned his need to talk. It was sheer loneliness that shut him up, the Stetson hat so soaked from rain that it was only gentling the fall as it dripped through to drench his hair and river down his neck and spine, he'd long gone numb and no longer shivered, to stiff in the saddle.

Buckshot whined quietly.

Sam glanced over at the black and tan shepherd. The dog's head dropped onto the saddle horn and left out a huffed sigh, pinning his ears.

Another few miles of sheer silence was only broken by rain fall and the squish of the tired horses' hooves in the wet earth. Celia took a deep shaky breath, looking pale and sick.

"One more... he's dead…but one more…" She muttered, put her tongue into the back of her teeth and whistled as high and loudly as she could muster, Dean snapped out of his trance for a few seconds at the sound. He could only describe it later as the sound of Celia's heart breaking in loss.

A whinny returned the sorrowful call. Blackbird, Widowmaker and Chambeau's heads shot up, ears cocking forward. Celia looked absolutely shocked.

"Thank God." She breathed and without even looking at the Winchesters took off at a gallop. Dean glanced at Sam briefly before Chambeau lunged forward at a dead sprint. The bay, bald faced mare let out a joyous whinny, doubling her pace when Widowmaker tried to out strip her. Sam and Dean were left to hang on for their lives.

Blackbird and Celia crashed recklessly over the terrain until the darkness collapsed and a ghost like apparition broke out of the dark, corrupted only by a thin blue rope halter. The animal reared up, whinnying loudly and rushing to meet them. Blackbird nickered back. The two studs practically crashed into each other; rearing back on their heels nipping at each other's rumps and dancing in circles around each other. Buckshot scrambled off the saddle, landing awkwardly on the earth and bounded out of the way of crashing hooves, barking loudly.

Celia reached out and snatched a hold of the halter and yanked the cremello horse around, tugging his face up into hers. Blackbird and the cremello stopped moving, tossing their heads and nickering.

"Ya fuckin' bastard, Honeycatcher. Don't do that again." She growled, pressing her fore head against the stud's. The pale animal calmed and nickered softly, pinning back his ears and looking guilty. Celia's eyes were tight shut and she was thankful for rain disguising her tears of thanks. She dropped Blackbird's reins and rubbed the cremello stud's muzzle and cheek, petting back his ears. Honeycatcher nickered assuringly. Celia reached around unsnapped the shank hook lead from Blackbird's halter and bridle and clipped it into place on Honeycatcher's rope halter. As soon as the animal was secure from taking off again Celia went back to scratching his cheeks and chin.

Widowmaker and Chambeau tore into the reunion. The big black mare dancing around in circles, whinnying loudly and stamping her hooves as Sam tried to keep the animal under control. Chambeau practically crashed bodily into the pale stud. Skidding at the last second and her chest thudding with a loud slap against Honeycatcher's shoulder, Dean's hand threw out to brace against the import's back to keep from falling over. The stud pitched over sharply, nickering in surprise as the bay mare grabbed a mouthful of pale mane and tugged viciously.

Honeycatcher reared back, a sharp wail breaking from his throat. Chambeau pinned her ears, snorting and stamping her hooves. It was clear she was scolding the much larger stud. Widowmaker nickered in agreement. Honeycatcher pinned his ears and snorted, backing away from the angry mares.

Celia swatted at the two mares away and went back to rubbing the stud's face.

"Leave him alone, y'all, ya can beat the shit outta him after the show." Celia's voice was shaking slightly and she was rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Fuckin' horse."

Honeycatcher nickered softly and lifted his nose into Celia's ear and playfully tugged a few strands of loose hair between his teeth. She swatted his face, petting the pale nose.

Sam smiled happily and looked at Dean, at least expecting a look of mild triumph and got nothing but a dulled, expressionless mask. But the elder Winchester's eyes were trained on the interaction between Celia and Honeycatcher. He could see small salt tears of relief built up in her eyes and a real smile on her face. Actual emotion. The clear lingering fear, terror even, the way her voice had broken at the mention of the horse's death was still on her face and in the line of her spine. Dean felt a small spark of happiness, so small it was almost drowned in the growing pangs in his stomach and the fever trying to flush his skin.

And the distrust was still there, like a thread bare ribbon tied tightly around his heart but it was there. Dean felt another few strands shred away from distrust.

It was very clear that Celia had felt the severe broken loss of the cremello.

The only kind of loss that love could inflict on a soul.

"Where the hell were ya, 'Catcher?" Celia asked, rubbing a fist across her eyes. The stud nickered and danced a step back with a small snort. He jerked his head in the general direction of the way he'd come. He nickered and stamped a hoof.

"Alright, alright." She pressed her heels into Blackbird's sides and the buckskin broke into a quick trot after the other stud. The two mares and Buckshot fell into pace without hesitation. The cremello's pace kicked up and he urged them into a mild lope. A few long minuets, Honeycatcher mounted a ridge, threw out his chest and arching his neck proudly.

"Oh, hell no." Celia growled.

Dean and Sam glanced down into the shallow valley below, the light of their lanterns breaking through the dark. A small group of mustangs huddled together, two small colts, a chestnut appaloosa and a dark blue roan, maybe yearlings and three adults, a blue roan, a bay and a black appaloosa, all mares.

Honeycatcher nickered loudly and started down the slope towards them. The five animals' heads lifting at the call, the blue roan mare nickered loudly and cautiously starting towards them and away from the group.

"Hell no." Celia growled, yanking Honeycatcher around as she turned Blackbird.

The cremello stud hauled back on his halter, snorting and stamping.

"'Catcher ya goddamn whore, yer not stealin' and keepin' a band of Nokotas." Celia growled, wrapped the lead rope tightly around Blackbird's saddle and hauled on the cremello's head. The stud balked, rearing back and whinnying into the valley, his voice was clearly distressed. The blue roan mare looked startled and broke into a trot towards them. The mare skidded when Chambeau and Widowmaker both stamped their hooves, snorted and whinnied warningly down at her.

"Baby, I'm sorry, ya cain't." Celia hauled on the stud and clicked for Blackbird to break into a lope. Honeycatcher stumbled, forced to walk reluctantly after. He twisted and whinnied down into the valley, snorting. The blue roan whinnied back.

Dean felt his heart drop a little; the noise was identical to Celia's whistle. Heart breaking, sickening, loss.

Honeycatcher cried back, looking longingly over his shoulder as Celia dragged him away.

"I know, I know, you're Romeo and I'm Lady Montague." Celia sighed and pulled the now distraught stud until he was shoulder to shoulder with Blackbird. She reached over and gently patted the cream colored shoulders. Widowmaker and Chambeau snorted at the small Nokota herd and turned in huffs after the two studs. Buckshot loping after them.

The silence was ringing painfully, broken by the sound of rain hitting Stetsons, slickers and furred flesh. Honeycatcher's head hung or swung round to look back, making no noise but trying to turn and trot back only to be tugged forward again, there was an apologetic look in Celia's eyes but she didn't give in.

Honeycatcher stopped walking all together after a mile and a half. His head hung so low that his nose almost touched the ground. Celia pulled Blackbird up and waited a few seconds.

Dean took the chance to look at Sam in the dimming lantern light; Sam looked a little heart sick, sympathy written on his face for the stud.

Honeycatcher let out a sick, stomach churning groan. Sickly and broken hearted.

"Sorry, baby. Ya just cain't." Celia reached out and rubbed a hand over the stud's shoulder. He lifted his head as if defeated and nickered quietly before starting a slow walk again.

Any good mood that had existed at the reappearance of the lost stud was shattered by the forced separation of the small family he'd made for himself. Sam fell into silence along with his elder brother and Celia. The ride suddenly became longer, harder. Sam started to feel pain blossoming in his legs, lower back and knees. It was starting to become unbearable and Sam's misery was pushing towards complete. He chanced a glance at Dean. The elder brother's head was up, his eyes alert and searching the landscape around them, showing no real signs of discomfort but Sam was sure there was pain in his joints, at the very least.

Slowly the desert scrub and grasslands grew into thicker scrub and then into dogwoods and other desert trees like it had been at the Owyhee River and up towards Mountain City.

Sam's lantern flickered out, Celia hesitating a second to fiddle with it but the bulb had given out. Dean silently took his place behind Sam and Widowmaker and Celia, Honeycatcher and Blackbird ahead with Buckshot loping wearily with them.

Miles crawled by, cut only by nickers and soft whinnies of broken bands of ponies and one large forced herd that Sam could see the distress in the animals now that he knew he was looking at something unhealthy and unnatural.

The only thing that broke them out of their silence was when the horses balked and Celia pointed out massive bear tracks fresh in the mud.

And through it all Dean and Celia carefully avoided any reason to speak or look at each other, though Sam caught Dean glancing at Celia more than once.

Sam almost cried out in joy when the rolling landscape was broken by a wire and rail road tie fence. The horses picked up their paces as Celia steered them along the fence line to a black pipe gate same used all over the Greer's Wounded Heart Ranch. The same way she had with the barn doors at the ranger station Celia unlatched the chain and pushed the gate open, leading Blackbird and Honeycatcher around to stand out of the way as Dean, Sam and Buckshot passed though. She was able to awkwardly swing the gate back into place and chain it shut.

"Buckshot, go to work." The red haired rancher whistled and motioned the dog on. The black and caramel dog barked tiredly and broke into long legged lope, his head low and sniffing. Blackbird and Honeycatcher broke into quick trots to follow.

"Where-"

"We're back on Wounded Heart property, my cattle. Home stretch Sammy." Celia explained shortly and trotted the two studs passed the Winchesters and the mares. Buckshot barked and broke into a stumbling gallop, strain clearly in his steps. Blackbird adopted the same slumping pace, in the way that she hunched over the saddle and let rain trickle down into her face and the way they felt themselves Sam knew that Honeycatcher was the only one with any kind of energy.

Buckshot bounded tiredly across the earth and flung himself bad temperedly into a herd of living animals that Sam had mistaken for scrub in the rainy dark.

The Red Fur and Black Angus cattle lowed in terror and broke into a lazy stampede to get away from the bad tempered fury of the weary German Shepherd.

Buckshot was worse than nanny vengeful spirit after a patrol and poured all his frustration and anger out on the cattle. More than one heifer ended up with a nip in the heels or flank. One particular steer had his nose bitten drastically when he dared to try and break from the herd. The cattle endured the punishment, pushing and shoving each other, the brothers and Celia when they pressed into the herd.

The cattle themselves did most of the work; they knew where to go and went without much protest. The rolling acres eaten in minuets, but it dragged on for hours in Dean and Sam's opinion. Dean sneezed a few times, his noise assaulted with the scent of wet cattle, dog, horse mixed with his own bitter sweat, even over the consistent shower of rain fall.

Dean glanced sideways, seeing Sam huddled in on himself, hugging as close to the saddle and Widowmaker's back to gather warmth into his core. Slight shivers racing down his brother's spine. Dean himself felt slack and heavy in the saddle, weary and his face drawn. He didn't try to do much more than hold on but he kept his head up, eyes roving over the territory. Searching for anything in the dark that could have been a threat. Dean felt stiff and sore, his joints rubbing together painfully and it was the first time that he really felt older than his age, felt like he was pushing thirty or he had been on a hunt from dawn to dusk without anything to eat. He glanced at Celia, she seemed practically thread bare, one hand wrapped into Blackbird's reins and the other into the lead line on Honeycatcher's halter. Her spine was curved oddly and the way her left leg shivered, her hip twitching she was in a clear amount of severe pain that Dean had seen cripple other people before. Some how Dean could pick out the small signs that were clear that Celia was exhausted, strained, on the edge of collapse. He noticed the tightness in her shallow breathing, the scars on her neck and forearms stood out drastically as if enflamed from weariness. Her hair lank and darkened to black with rain. He could read her as easily as he could read Sam, with a precision that only years of familiarity could breed.

But her head was up, sharp blood colored eyes alert, fresh even taking in the world around her, he noticed her nostrils flare once or twice, sucking in rain damp air and scent. She looked ready and willing to continue, push, keep going. Keep letting the strain pound on her until collapse or death. She didn't seem to feel her age or weight or weariness. And she made this patrol almost every day for the last few months, according to the BLM records.

_And I thought I was tough_, Dean thought to himself. Celia seemed to feel his eyes, she looked back at him. _Dean blinked, for a brief seconds the world flashed into golden day light, warmth instead of rain chill flooded over his skin. The strain and age were out of her face, she couldn't have been much older than eighteen. Her hair fell in long ringlets from a pony tail between her horns, spilling like an auburn water fall around her throat and shoulders. She smiled quietly at him, blood colored eyes written with playfulness; Dean felt his heart speed up a little, warmth bubble into his throat. He could hear the rattling hums of cicadas and locus, whirly gigs drifting down to tangle in her hair or catch on the slim, black tank top. Dean tried to look harder at the visible tattooing, trying to make out designs._

The world flashed back into darkness as the lightening passed and Dean blinked, trying to get his night vision back. Dean looked back at Celia, her eyes still on him, the age and the cold was back, looking at him with forced disinterest before she looked forward again and Dean felt a pang of loss.

He couldn't call it a vision. The only visions he'd been privy to had been painfully violent, it was a waking dream.

A memory.

"Thank God." Sam muttered quietly, thankfully as the familiar silhouette of Celia's barn came into view. Widowmaker and Chambeau nickered in agreement, pressing into a slightly quicker pace. The cattle rushed, kicking up their heels. Dean chanced a glance at his watch. It was pressing in towards two in the morning, Dean was sure it would have been later than that, but they had been on the trail for over seven hours. He was positive that he would feel that entire ride come crashing down on his as soon as he stopped moving and slid out of Chambeau's saddle.

Celia whistled, the first time in over an hour, Blackbird and Honeycatcher broke into lopes, shoving their way through the cattle and into the lead towards the large paddock round the far side of the barn. She bent and unchained the pipe gate and shoved it open, the two hundred fifty head thundering it. Chambeau and Widowmaker dipping their heads, snorting and charging at the back of the herd to make them move faster. The two mares knew that when that gate closed and locked the Red Furs and Black Angus in they were done working for at the very least twenty four hours. They wanted to get it done and lose the inexperienced brothers. Dean was snapped out of his exhausted daze when Chambeau lurched suddenly, stumbling and nearly crashing into the ground as she tripped over Rosie. The calf lowed sharply, shoved down to the ground and rolling, scrambling to get back towards Celia, Blackbird and Honeycatcher. Chambeau stumbled back to her height and stood stiff, her ears thrown back and Dean's hands wrapped tightly into and yanking back on her mane and reins. Dean's heart was hammering at the near fall, his blood boiling and something that was clearly fear was spiking in his stomach and churning around in an already upset sea of guilt, distrust and fever flushed pain. It was worse than any punch in the gut. It was then that Dean's nerves were shot and he was absolutely done.

Celia trotted up on his side, catching Chambeau's reins under her chin and tugging the mare into movement and saving Dean from further stress. His left knee and leg brushing and pressing into her right, sending a chill and very small flush of warmth into his skin. Sam, Widowmaker, Buckshot and Rosie feel into step behind as Celia took lead out of the rain and into the dry and musty warmth of the barn, the door let open wide enough for ventilation and one horse to pass through. Celia shoved Chambeau and Dean ahead, the mare broke into a trot down the line of stalls, making heads jerk up and whinnies thrown at her. Celia shoved in Honeycatcher, Buckshot squeezing in with him, then Sam and Widowmaker, Rosie and finally Blackbird and herself on the rear.

Chambeau stopped moving, swinging her rear around and squaring up to face the empty stall she and Widwomaker shared. Her ears pined back and waiting. Widowmaker shoved up next to her. The two brothers sat still, caught between a lack of knowledge of what to do or the sheer shock of the lack of rain and trail. Buckshot and Rosie trotted over towards the far door and stood waiting for the door to open. They shivered in the dry, dusty air of the barn.

Blackbird stepped slowly up to his own stall, and Celia slid down to the earth. Her left knee giving out briefly, she hopped once before settling weight on the joint, she yanked off her hat, tossing it away and yanked the poncho up over her head. She was far from dry beneath the rain coat but the sigh that escaped her lips made it clear that she could have cared less, she was glad to be rid of the poncho and tossed it up over the stall bars. Sam followed her example, copying her moves and sent Dean a look to do the same.

The elder Winchester slid down to the earth and felt his stomach lurch and turn over, he swallowed a sick mouth of bile and pulled the Stetson and poncho up over his head, tiredly tossing the poncho over the stall door and dropping the hat to the earth. He felt dizzy and, god he hated to admit it, faint. But he powered through, somehow drawing off reserves of strength and energy he'd never know he had and would never take for granted in his life afterwards. Dean was bleary eyed, not even bothering to look over for Celia's example but moved through motions that seemed to be ingrained in his muscles.

He unwrapped the lead rope from the saddle horn and wrapped it into a perfect tie knot around the bars of the stall door, he unbuckled the breast collar and loosened the girth, lifting both up out of the way to drape across the saddle. He loosened the saddle bags and set them down aside, slid the saddle and blanket off of Chambeau's back and set the saddle up to balance on the horn. Her back was drenched on sweat and rain water. Dean reached up, slipped her bridle off of her head and patted her cheek. Dean looped the bridle and reins over his shoulder, draped the soaked blanket with it, adjusted the saddle and hefted it up into his arms. He walked almost blindly towards the tack room, stepping into the dark. He didn't bother turning on the lights but followed his instinct toward a corner of the room and set the saddle down, standing it up the same way. He stepped over to the opposing wall, lifting his hand and finding a hook in the dark draped the bridle into place, then slid the blanket off his arm to sit in a dripping mass on the floor. The lights flashed on, Dean flinched and groaned, shutting his eyes in the blinding light for a few brief seconds. He opened them and looked up, Celia lifted an eyebrow, glancing briefly at the saddle Dean had set to stand, the bridle and the sopping wet blanket and Winchester.

Dean swallowed, his mouth cottony like he'd forgotten how to speak. Celia said nothing setting the dark leather saddle and breast collar to stand next to Dean's, brushing passed him to the bridles and hung hers next to his, dropping the blanket on the floor the same way. Dean stepped back from her like a struck dog, feeling ill and guilty he didn't look up at her, unsure how to approach her or if he should.

She didn't give him the chance, turning on her heel and walking back out of the tack room, dancing out of the way as Sam stepped in, she snatched two white towels from a rack near the door on the way out. Sam twisted his head around to watch her walk away then his eyes flew back to Dean.

"Dean, what-"

The elder Winchester shot Sam a look, kept his uncharacteristic silence, grabbed a towel and marched out of the tack room. Sam bristled a little but let it go. He and Dean had a lot to hash out as soon as possible and starting up a fight as exhausted as they were was not a good idea. He did know one thing: that Dean and Celia were in the middle of some kind of impasse, the way they avoided each other and didn't speak. Sam knew enough about their personalities to know that he didn't want to get caught between. He might as well play Russian Roulette. He had to stay out of the way, observe and wait until it was safe for him to make his own stand and dig into Dean for the finer details of his brother's downward spiral. Then Sam perked a little, maybe Celia was dealing with it, maybe that's what this silence was.

Sam prayed it was, Dean was his brother, his elder brother. No matter how much taller or heavier Sam was, no matter how sure he was he was a little more knowledgeable in the world compared to the elder brother, he was just that.

Deep in Sam somewhere was still the child, who didn't dare question Dean's methods and followed with unconditional obedience. Sure it was dulled with age and his own experience but it lingered and doubled, tripled in strength when things got drastic. Dean could always scare Sam back into that state. The thought of Dean mixed up with substance abuse was one of those ways.

As cowardly as it was, selfish as it was, Sam hoped that Celia would deal with the problem for him. Of course logic told him otherwise, but it was something to cling hope to.

Sam grabbed his own towels and stepped out into the air of the barn and followed Dean and Celia's example, rubbing Widowmaker's fur dry, or at least stop it from dripping wet. Celia rubbed up and down Blackbird's legs picking up his hooves to make sure they were clear. As she expected the soggy earth and rain kept it from clumping into the hooves. She glanced over to see Dean do the same before patting Chambeau down a final time, opening the stall door, unclipping her lead and nudging the mare inside. Without instruction he stepped over to the grain buckets, pulled off a lid, dug out large scoop and poured it into Chambeau's food bowl. The mare nickered happily, hesitating from eating to rub her nose across Dean's shoulder and throat briefly before digging into the chow.

Dean glanced up at her, green eyes meeting red for a few seconds before he looked away. Stepping back to the grain, digging out a second scoop and poured it into Widowmaker's bucket, the big black mare nickered tugging at her lead until Sam unclipped her halter and she stepped willingly in next to Chambeau. Sam pushed the stall door shut and leaned heavily against the wood and iron. Sam sighed, his shoulders shaking.

Celia pushed Blackbird and Honeycatcher into the stall, swiftly scooping grain into their bowls and shut the stall. She scoop up her hat, walking towards them, picked the other two off the floor then set her free hand gently in the center of Sam's back, pushing him upright and towards the front of the barn. Sam stumbled a little before walking on his own, Dean followed stiffly at Celia's side, being careful to keep a small space between them. Celia's step was stiff, limping and clearly in pain but she refused to let it show on her face. She stepped up next to Sam, shoving the barn door open and waiting until the brothers, dog and calf had stepped out to huddle under the narrow overhang between the barn and the rain. She shut the door and motioned them in the general direction of the house. Buckshot and Rosie were already loping across the yard towards the veranda. Sam heaved a sigh as if he was looking at the Sahara Desert then started a tired jog towards the house, Dean and Celia fell into step behind him. Sam stumbled, nearly falling before catching himself and getting back on his movement. He'd never felt so exhausted as he did then. A nicker made him look up towards the large round pen, the homewrecker mare's ears where perked forward, staring at him as rain fell across her back. Her head twitched up and she nickered in his direction. Sam looked at her, as if saying he was sorry that he couldn't comfort her but the younger Winchester was sure that he would collapse as he stepped into the house. Sam nearly stumbled up the stairs and across the veranda.

Dean a step behind him, and Celia taking up the rear and stepping passed them to pull open the screen then push open the oaken door to let them in. The cross of the yard left them soaked where ever they had been dry and the trio shivered violently as they passed through the door and into the cool air of the kitchen. Valentine and Alamo lifted their heads from under the table and whined but Buckshot slumped down to the floor and Rosie dropped herself next to the white dog and collie.

Sam let out a gasp that sounded like and arrow being pulled from a wound and made for the nearest chair.

"No, Sam, don't stop, ya'll regret it. Shower, ya'll feel better." Celia said tossing the hats on the counter, swiftly unbuckling her belt and tossing it next to them. She reached out, grabbed the waistband of Sam's jeans and hauled him back and away from the chair, Sam stumbled and she quickly disarmed him of the radio on his hip and set it aside. Dean stripped his own off without Celia's help.

The red eyed woman pulled sharply on Sam's jeans until he stepped back towards her and she pushed him towards the hall. Sam tried to twist around to get her hand off of his jeans, but he was too exhausted to put up much fight. Celia nudged him down the hall towards the bathroom and forced him inside, shutting the door swiftly and leaving a confused and started Sam in the first floor bathroom staring at his own stretched and pale complexion tinged with streaks of red across his cheeks, the last of the sunburn started to itch and sting as he looked at it and started through the methodical stripping of his clothes for a thorough shower.

The door swiftly opened and Celia tossed in the orange flannels, a thin white tee shirt and a clean pair of boxers. Sam started; jumping and yanking his tee shirt back down over his chest.

"Red!" Sam barked tiredly and annoyed.

"Sorry, sorry." Celia snorted, clearly not sorry at all and shut the door again. Celia clutched the red flannels, similar shirt and boxer pair snatched from the mud room. Dean stood awkwardly and shivering from exhaustion and cold in the middle of the hall. He'd never figure himself for catching a cold in the desert but the way he sniffed and felt stuffed up it felt just that way.

Celia motioned him after her. He followed, stumbling up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, she opened the door to the bathroom, tossed in the clothes and stepped away, marching back down the hall towards the largest bed room. Leaving a trail of watery, mud tracks on the hardwood. Dean looked after her as she stepped into the master bed room and out of sight. He was tempted to follow her, try and talk to her, but the sounds of Sam showering a floor below coaxed him towards the bathroom. Dean stepped in and shut the door tightly, stripping off as much of his clothes as fast as possible, starting the warm water running awkwardly at the same time. Dean practically threw himself under the shower, breathing in the steamed and hot air was soothing, clearing his sinuses and forcing off the feeling of weighing an extra hundred pounds. His shivering stopped and Dean hung his head, letting warm water flow over his hair and skull, down his face and chest. It had been a while since he'd taken a shower. He reached for a shampoo, unaware that it was Celia's. Be barely took in the gold color or the smell of wild honey as it drowned his senses, pouring over his fingers into his palm. Dean inhaled deeply, his memory flashing to earlier that after noon, of him and Sam and Celia sitting causally casually in the saddle licking stolen honeycombs. Dean shut his eyes, memory slammed into him rolling back.

_He blinked, the sound of water dulling until it sounded soft and wild. He looked around, taking in the hollow shadows by tall willow and dogwoods. The sheet of dark water stretched in front of him in a small pool of dark water. Rippling as a small creek dribbled into the water. Dean hugged himself, huddling closer to the sun warmed trunk of a tree. He bent forward to look at himself in the water; he felt no surprise to see himself, though it was a child pushing ten more than a man pushing thirty. His hair was longer than he remembered, hanging in his eyes. Dean blinked quietly then smiled looking up wards in the water as a willow leaf drifted down to the surface. Dean twisted around and looked up, smiling into the tree at the red eyed and haired eight year old, small horn nubs nestled at her hair line, and six year old Sam nestled in the crook of the branches. _

"_Ahote, c'mon!" The red head coaxed holding out a large glass jar brimming with golden honey. Dean pushed himself up and turned sharply when a shout and a whistle rose from somewhere near by._

"_Dean!" Sam called. Dean swiftly scrambled up the trunk, reaching out to take the red head's hand and pulled him up closer to her and his little brother in the willow branches. Dean pressed in close to Celia, she touched her hand to his lips to hush him, he tasted the spice of honey on her skin. Dean reached over to dip his fingers into the jar pulling back to lick it off. _

"_Nathaniel's goin' to know we took it." The red haired girl muttered. _

Dean blinked his eyes open and looked blearily at the tile in the bathroom.

"That was before he died." Dean whispered to himself, working his fingers through the thinning shampoo. He shut his eyes tightly, feeling a pit of loss in his stomach, an ache, duller than the pangs of his father but the same ache. Dean sighed, drawing in the scent of honey and soap. Dean poured a little more shampoo into his palm and worked it into his hair, scrubbing out the rain, dust, mud and oil. It fell away, slipping down the drain, his muscles going slack, relaxing against his bones and joints. Dean almost collapsed, sinking to the belly of the tub and sitting there to drown in the shower.

Dean didn't know how long he'd been under the water before he shut the water off, stepping out and pulling a towel with him, he scrubbed his skin dry, feeling like he'd lost a solid ten pounds. He ruffled his hair dry and looked at himself briefly in the mirror before pulling on the dry boxers and flannels pants. He stiffly pulled the white tee shirt over his head and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the sodden towel, clothes and his boots in a corner of the bathroom out of shear habit of leaving his clothes all over motel bathrooms.

The silence in the hall and the house made his skin prickle little. No sounds of shower or laundry or human life at all. Dean followed the hall, bare feet padding softly on the hardwood. He passed down the stairs and looked around the completely silent living room and hall. He was tempted to call out, break a silence that had lasted nearly three hours. A groan made Dean whirl around, tensing and listening, another growled out groan, from the other side of the couch. Dean stepped around the leather and looked down, slightly take aback.

"Dean…you….have got to get one of these…" Sam groaned into the floor, more of a purr than anything else. Dean looked over his younger brother, stretched out on his stomach, the white tee shirt draped over the cushion of the couch and the orange flannels slung low on his hips. The side of Sam's face pressed into the plush carpet, eyes shut and hair rumpled around his ears. Celia was next to him, her legs crossed tightly, dressed in a white tee shirt, red plaid flannels and her hair was loose, hanging around her ears and horns in a blood colored curtain. The horns shone slick from the water of her shower. She only glanced briefly up at him then looked back to Sam's bare back; she was rubbing her hands deeply into the taught muscles of Sam's left shoulder and bicep. Sam's flesh twisted, kneading under her hands like dough. Dean shifted his weight, unsure what else to do. He'd never seen Sam so relaxed, so calm. His chest was rising and falling in deep, lung filling draws of air. Dean watched in mild fascination as Celia worked down Sam's arm and with practiced and measured moved massaged one Sam's large left hand for solid minuet and a half. Sam was purring groaning in pleasure into the floor when Celia let go of his hand, rubbing hers together for a second before lightly slapping Sam on the small of his back.

"Bed." She said, motioning in a general direction of the hall and stairs. Sam whimpered in loss and forced himself up, his moves were more like an over large, lazy cat than the young man. Sam grabbed the white tee shirt and stumbled contentedly towards the hall, with a sloppy smile of sheer bliss on his features.

"Four thirty, Sam." Celia called after him, the younger Winchester mumbled something in return and much to Dean's irritation slipped into the downstairs guest room that Dean had been using for his rehabilitation since the first day at Wounded Heart Ranch. He turned back to look at Celia. She was still rubbing her hands, then reached for a beer sitting at her knee, taking a quick slug back from the amber liquid, she set it down again.

"Well, if ya want." She motioned towards the space on the floor Sam had vacated. Dean shifted; feeling his collar tighten slightly, Dean swallowed and looked at the carpet next to her.

"It'll help ya feel better." Celia said quietly, looking in the general direction of the entertainment center. Dean couldn't get the pure look of contentment on Sam's face out of his head or the feeling of jealously that went with it. His body screamed, wiling at him to move, the sore muscles twitched under his skin. Before Dean realized what he was doing he'd pulled the white tee shirt back up over his head, stepped round to kneel on the carpet. He gingerly worked himself down onto his stomach and crossed his arms, pillowing his face on his forearms with a mild hiss of pain. Dean sighed, shutting his eyes and waiting for a knife to dig into his ribs. His muscle tensed sharply and Dean arched his back tightly when Celia's hands rested lightly on the small of his back, his muscle contracting painfully. The pressure increased almost mercilessly, pressing into the muscles then it lightened, then it was heavy again with the barest of movements, rolling the muscle under his skin.

Dean slumped, collapsing completely into dead weight with a noise that couldn't be classified as anything but an intoxicated purr. Celia's small, strong hands kneaded his muscles and flesh working methodically in one place before creeping a few inches up, down or across his back. She pulled up and massaged out kinks, knots and strains not just fresh but several years old. Stopping and digging deep into his tissue on the most severe places where Dean had gotten so used to pain he no longer registered what it would have felt without spasms.

"Knotted..." Celia muttered quietly. Dean only moaned in response.

He decided that either he was dead, sent to heaven and this was his reward or some demon was ensuring his place in hell as nothing he'd ever experienced had been so euphoric as Celia messaging his muscles after a soothing shower. It had to be a sin.

Celia worked first deep pressure, then lightening to a gentle, soothing touch, especially careful around his spine. Celia moved down his sides and forcing him to lift his hips off the floor to work deep into the muscles around his stomach and strung to his pelvis. Dean let out an almost pained hiss and thrust his hips down into her hands forcing her touch deeper into the aching muscles. He'd never understood how sore he was, how much his body ached until he was under her hands.

Celia moved back to the small of Dean's back, a small noise of loss rippled from his throat as he slumped back to the floor. She moved down, working his thigh and calf muscles in soothing rolling movements through the thin fabric of the flannels. Soothing the pulled muscles from the log patrol ride. Dean could only grunt quietly and inwardly think that he was getting a better once over than Sam. Either that or he made more noise than Sam. Dean had always been more vocal than his younger brother in all aspects but he couldn't believe Sam was able to keep quiet unless his turn had been less thorough.

Dean was purring, more like an actual feline sound than the low rumble he produced in speech certain situations, he could feel his throat vibrating, his chest humming with the noise.

"Ya Winchesters sound like cats when yer in good mood." Celia said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper or dulled to that by Dean's mind, she hesitated in her ministrations to take a draw from the beer before returning to his lower back, lightly rubbing the topmost layer of skin and muscle before progressing up to his shoulders and neck, digging deeply into his tissue. Dean could sense her shifting up to leaned heavily over her hands and arms as she kneaded the muscle around his collar bone, her shoulders directly above her hands to gain more pressure.

_Good mood nothing! Don't fucking stop!_ Dean begged inwardly, he had never been so out of control and felt so safe at the same time. All the pangs of hunger, soreness, the weight of the Hunt and his life, even the lingering twists of distrust, guilt and heat stroke fled from his body. There were demons and men alike that would have given anything to be in Celia's position with Dean Winchester so completely vulnerable literally in their hands.

Dean's head rolled lifelessly when she tipped it one way or another to rub his temples and skull around his ears, moving down to light strokes long his jaw muscles in smooth motion down his neck to his collar bone. The back again until Dean lost count and she turned his head the other way. Dean couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to watch what she was doing, his vision would have been nothing but a blurred mass. The lightest touch of command and Dean forced his head up, stiffly pulling his arms out from under his cheek and eased himself back down, arms slack as Celia started working on his right bicep and under arm, rubbing in slow circles around the crook of his elbow, down the forearm to his wrist and then his hand. Dean had a sudden knew favorite as she messaged his hand, rolling the small muscles in his palm, across his knuckles, and deep into the base of his thump, Dean practically choked in bliss.

He was ruined, damned for the rest of his life to crave this feeling, this methodical and ambrosic pressure. All other sensation afterwards he was sure would feel like sandpaper and cement.

Celia skimmed back over his shoulders, down his other arm and hand before she nudged him in the side.

"Roll over."

Dean was limp strength, using everything he had to force his body to twist over and stretch on his back. Celia carefully moved his gold pendant and the otter totem necklace aside then wrapped her right arm around his, locking her grip on his bicep, braced her left hand into the crook of his right shoulder and pulled. A wet gasp of pleasure escaped his lips at the feeling of the joint correcting itself and stretching the muscles comfortingly before she let his arm slide back lifelessly to the floor and she made small comforting circles in the front of his shoulder, collar bone and upward of his pectoral. The left arm felt twice as good as the right only because Dean braced himself for it feeling every movement and push in an amplified sense.

Another command to roll over, Dean didn't know how much more he could take, forcing himself back onto his stomach, the over stimulation shut down his systems when Celia gently started in on his neck and the base of his skull, pressuring in on his central nervous system, Dean could do nothing but fall into an almost catatonic sleep.

_Dean's eye drifted open lazily, golden sunlight falling across his face and blinding him slightly. He breathed deeply, his lungs expanding and adjusting to consciousness. He heard the soft glass clink of a wind chimes, warmth and laughter drifted on the air. Dean forced himself up, sitting back on his heels and listening. Flashes of refracted light danced off his face, before he used the couch to push himself to his feet. Dean carefully stepped around the furniture, passing the hall and into the Greer home kitchen. He stopped, looking confused at a tall man, wider in the shoulder and slimmer in the waist than his father had been. Raven colored hair just long enough to brush his ears and hang in his eyes. Weathered hands, tanned and scarred worked with a calm heaviness. _

_The man worked carefully at the counter, a small smile crossing his lips when a round of laughter drifted in through the shut screen door. He poured blue dish soap into a low tin pan, holding it under the faucet to add the barest amount of water and swirled it as he shut the faucet off. He gathered four plastic bubble wands that anyone could pick up at a dollar store. He continued to swirl the contents as he walked across the stone tiled floor and pushed open the door, Dean, on his heels, catching the screen and holding it open. He barely stopped himself from stepping out onto the veranda but leaned against the door frame._

_A much younger, less scarred John Winchester looked up as the taller man walked towards him, he leaned in the same way the Dean did against a stone and wood support for the porch roof. John smiled and nodded briefly. _

_Dean looked out passed the stranger and his father, pushing away from the door frame to get a better view, see what they were looking at. His eyes following the slow and careful movements of three youngsters, all barefoot and sitting carefully on the bare backs of massive horses, or the animals seemed that way compared to their rider's sizes. The red head girl had regressed, barely five, Sam and himself had shrunk to accommodate Sam no more than three and himself pushing seven with the mop of blonde hair that around that part of his life had quickly started to darken._

_The nubs of horns gave Celia away around her small, untidy ponytail. She sat right up on a yearling buckskin's shoulders, her light unpracticed touch on the dark leather bridle around the colt's head made him jump to follow, practically dancing into faster pace than seemed safe for a bare back child. What started Dean the most was the lack of fear in his own eyes. Sam carefully pressed into his younger self's chest, little Dean's arms forming a careful cage to protect the toddler from sliding off and hang onto the reins of light colored bridle. Little Dean seemed so comfortable and at ease, watching the red head and buckskin trot just a head of him, going at much easier pace on the paint horse._

_**The**__ paint horse. _

_The blue eyed, brown flecked animal that Sam had related to as 'The Chieftain', the same horse from Celia's story about two brothers, Kaneonuskatew and Unanni the Coyote, the horse stuck in time in his own dream. _

_The painted horse nickered, gave the barest kick of his heels in show of happiness, Sam clutched sharply at little Dean's shirt until the Chieftain settled back into the smooth, quick walk the kept Little Dean and Sam safe from a five foot fall. _

_The smile on Sam and Little Dean's faces seemed so foreign._

"_Thanks for taking the boys for me, Nathaniel." John said, Dean tore his eyes away from the three kids riding in casual circles around the yard. _

"_Shut up, John." Nathaniel retorted with a sniff, still holding the bubble pan. "Y'all are family."_

"_I hate leaving them, but its safer."_

"_Don't tell me, if I could I'd be right there with ya. Skinwalkers are nasty business." Nathaniel Greer sighed, turning to watch his adopted daughter and the two brothers smiling at each other. "But Rosa's up north dealin' with some family shit, left me to fend for myself and the pups." _

_John grunted quietly, watching his sons. _

"_My brother-in-law Kurt would take 'em but…"_

_John grunted again, the two old Marines standing in companionable quiet for a little while. _

"_It's good to see Dean smiling. This is as close to home as he'll ever get…I can't thank you enough."_

"_I should be thankin' ya." Nathaniel's statement made John look up. "I've been worried about M'amin."_

_John tensed up, Dean noticed the barest glint of the look he got when he was on the trail of a demon in his eyes. "Why?"_

_Nathaniel looked at John, clearly noting the sharpness in his tone. "Nothin' like that John-" John relaxed, "She's been standoffish, ya know, I mean she gets along fine with Elijah, he's been a real champ, taken to her faster than I would have hoped for but eight years is a big jump, he's a teenager, I can't expect him to hang around with her all the time when he can go rabbit huntin' with his buddies from school. She's been lonely, needs somebody her age round. She just dotes on Dean, and Sammy, too."_

_John nodded, quiet fell for a few long seconds. _

"_They talk to each other."_

_John perked, "Dean's been talking?"_

_Dean swallowed harshly, he hadn't spoken until he was nearly eight, three and a half years of silence. _

_John nodded, "M'amin, too. Just little stuff, if ya know what room they're in ya can stand outside and listen they might say somethin' if yer real quiet and stand still."_

_John nodded in approval._

"_It's good for 'em. Healthy, the hell the three of them been in-"_

"_It's good that they're safe." John agreed. Nathaniel made no return on this, though the look in his eyes seemed a little rebellious at the tone in John's voice. Like there was something he wanted to say that contradicted this._

_Nathaniel whistled sharply, making the three youngsters and two horses look up. _

"_Guys, bubbles!" He called stepping down the stairs to the earth. _

"_Bub-uls!" Sam squealed, the two horses turned when Celia and Little Dean tugged on their reins. Sam already reaching enthusiastically towards the pan, Nathaniel held it up and out, Sam grabbing a hold of a pink heart shaped wand and swiftly blowing through it an producing a few, less than gossamer bubbles. Little Dean kept his arms firmly in place around Sam and on the reins, green eyes looking almost longingly at the bubble wands and particularly a blue one shaped like a star, clearly already expressing responsibility to sacrifice his own fun for the safety of his younger brother. The red head reach forward, picking up just that wand and rubbed it around in the soapy water then lifted it not towards herself but held it out so Little Dean could blow through the star shaped hoop. Little Dean smiled broadly, filled his narrow chest and expertly blew out several large bubbles, making Sam squeal. _

_Celia dipped the blue star again and blew bubbles in Little Dean's direction, his seven year old self snapped his teeth, playfully biting a bubble and sneezing when the soap burst around his nose. _

_Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder at a smiling John. _

"Dean, up."

Dean's eyes blinked open; he was already in the process of sitting up. It felt hard to leave his place on the floor where the last physical memory he had was of intense pleasure and relaxation. The elder Winchester sighed, scooting back to sit on his heels and rub a hand across his eyes and cheek, his bare torso and cheek meshed with the pattern of the carpet he'd fallen asleep on.

"Time?" Dean mumbled.

"Three-thirty. Here." Sam handed him a pair of jeans, socks and a black tee shirt.

"An hour?" Dean muttered quietly, he pulled the black tee over his head, pulling out the gold pendant and the otter totem. The elder Winchester forced himself up to his feet. A far less graceful stand than the one in his dream, Dean roughly dropped the red flannels, shivered once and lugged on the jeans over the boxers. He dropped unceremoniously onto the couch and braced his head against his palms and breathed out heavily.

"I thought she said four-thirty?" Dean rubbed a hand across his face to look up at Sam.

"She did, she woke me up. Something's wrong." Sam muttered, looking over his shoulder towards the kitchen. Dean tensed, coiling like a viper. In a second he was up on his feet, blood rushing around and making him dizzy.

"What? Is Celia alright?" He demanded.

Sam looked startled, surprised by the protective tone that the younger Winchester recognized as something meant only for him.

At least until now it had.

"Sam!" Dean growled.

"I don't know. Listen." The younger Winchester motioned towards the kitchen, bounding into pace behind his elder brother as Dean was already halfway across the kitchen towards the backdoor.

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**Bet y'all enjoyed the message thing, right? Thinking about Dean and Sammy in the shower and halfway in the buff with someone's hands all over their backs. **

**Read and Review. Much Love The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…**


	20. GET IN THE TRUCK!

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! GO CHIEFS! WHOO!**

**Sorry to everyone for having taken so long to get a chapter up but I hit a block, y'all…s'all good now… your all faithful for sticking with me. Love you!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty: GET IN THE FUCKIN' TRUCK SO WE CAN FUCKIN' GET THERE**

**"You can't enjoy a rodeo when you're going into the ring, there's the loading, the drvie up, the unloading, the stalling, the register and paying registerfees, the tack up, the warm up, the competeing, the cool down, the awards, the untacking, the stalling, the loading, the drive back, the unloading and just when you think you can enjoy it you get jet-lag and have to wake up for work the next morning."**

**-Experienced Rodeo Competators**

**…**

Dean started to push the screen door open but stopped when it was halfway open.

"What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout, Sheridan! Ya cain't be serious!" Celia screamed from outside in the yard. Dean eased the screen door shut again and listened intently from the kitchen, Sam leaning over his shoulder.

"I don't give a shit, Sheridan! How the hell are ya goin' to just turn this over to bunch of city bastards and let them run the show!?!"

Dean glanced at Sam, it may not have been 'serious' in terms of what the Winchesters considered serious but for Celia…

"Sheridan, how do ya expect everyone to still show up with an extra fifty miles added to the trip…yeah I bet a bunch of competitors dropped…No shit!"

Dean looked out of the screen onto the porch; the rain was still falling rapidly, rattling across the roof and churning the earth below. Dean physically ducked, stepping backwards and thudding into Sam when Celia stormed by the door, stomping her way up and down the porch, her cell phone pressed into her ear and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans, tee shirt and a slicker. Sam hissed as Dean trod on his foot.

"Watch it!" Sam whispered.

"Shut up." Dean snapped back.

"Ya know my take, I don't drop a show but goddamn…I'm not in a good way…Ya want me to WHAT!?!"

Dean glanced at Sam then watched Celia make a sharp turn on her heel to march back down the porch.

"I don't fuckin' care if I was Queen durin' the Nationals in Vegas! That was four years ago! I'm old! Too damn old! Ya…ya already said I'd do it, didn't ya…Fuck ya Sheridan…No, this is some bull shit! Bullshit!"

She snapped the phone shut, cursing violently in several different native dialects. She looked ready to throw the phone, instead slamming it into her pocket and dug her fingers into her hair, yanking at the locks and horns.

"Bitch…BITCH!" She snarled, and stormed off the porch.

"Red!" Dean said sharply, pushing open the door and stepping out on the porch in his socks. She stopped, rain coming down on her shoulders and hair.

"What!" She snapped, her deadly tone and temper shut Dean's jaw tightly.

Dean swallowed and Sam stepped up a little. "Everything alright?"

She snorted, her eyes flashing for a brief second Dean and Sam only saw black. Both brothers recoiled when she bared her teeth, flashing them as she turned sharply and started towards the barn.

"Red?" Sam called after her. She didn't even twitch a shoulder at him. "Red, are we still-"

"GET IN THE FUCKIN' TRUCK SO WE CAN FUCKIN' GET THERE!" She screamed at them before she was engulfed in darkness.

Sam swallowed and looked at Dean. The elder shook his head slightly, turning and starting towards the screen door. Sam twisted to watch his brother step back into the house.

Dean stepped into the mud room and pulled on his still damp boots, tightening the laces and knotting them. Glancing around he noticed his leather jacket hung on a hook. He recognized the distinct smell of smoke, gunpowder and his own sweat drifting faintly from the garment. Dean straightened up and started to reach for it, his hand stopped midway. Hung next to his jacket was a worn barn coat. Tawny, brown doeskin worked into suede, strips of dark brown along the seams and a thick lining of white fleece, curled and combed into a soft layer of comfort, a wide collar of exposed fleece was darker in color than the lining within. The scent emitting from this jacket was like saddle soap, tanned hide and very faintly sheep's wool. And horse, like all things of the Wounded Heart Ranch there was a thick layer of horse scent as well. It was a large jacket; it would hang lower on the hips and halfway down the hands, more protection. Dean stared at the jacket, his hand stretched towards his weathered leather.

Without any more hesitation Dean took the fleeced jacket off the rack and shrugged it onto his arms and shoulders. Unlike the leather jacket the fleece hugged his frame; cut in towards his waist and hips and comfortably snug across his shoulders. He pulled it shut across his chest, fitting smoothly round his frame, there was no extra room to move, no slack in the snug suede, but it didn't hinder movement, Dean could easily bend, twist, flex and if he could tell from the shift of the cut, hunt and fight in it. The color was some odd cross for brown and melted caramel and small bone carved buttons instead of a zipper. It fit better, felt more comfortable than hisown leather jacket. Warm and with certain solidarity that Dean could tell it was reliable; that it would never 'let him down'.

The collar arched around his throat and jaw, the curled fleece brushing gently over his skin. Dean twisted his head and buried his nose into the fleece and breathed in the scent, letting it drown his senses. Dean actually shut his eyes and drew in the scent like a hound. There was a possessive scent in the fleece, deep in the liner and even the doeskin. This was someone's jacket, that was for sure, well used, but Dean couldn't tell who, if it was male or female…it was just…someone.

Dean actually felt his chest puff a little.

_Mine now,_ he thought deciding he was going to do anything and every thing possible to over power the previous owner of jacket, and force a swap in its loyalty to himself. Dean threw back his shoulders and nodded, as if sealing the fate of the coat and dug his hands into the pockets, investigating 'his' new jacket. He came up with a pair of soft, doeskin work gloves, also lined in fleece but found them a little to snug. There was lighter, half-full of fluid, a couple of sugar cubes, a chunk of broken deer antler, a twenty dollar bill that he rejoiced at for a few seconds before tucking it back into place and few Winchester rifle rounds. An inner pocket gave up a bone carved switch blade. Dean snapped out the silver blade turning it over in his hands and inspected the carved handle. Noticing a few, carefully cut marks in the marrow that looked like 'MCMN'. Dean set the blade back into place and slipped it back into the inner pocket, unsure if they were initials or a Roman numeral date.

Dean arched his neck a little and sighed, he looked at his leather without even the barest spark of guilt at his sudden abandonment. He reached into the pocket and pulled out his wallet, keys and cell phone, tucking them into the doeskin coat. He turned and headed back into the kitchen. Dean glanced around, trying to think of anything he would miss but he was so foreign to the idea of a horse show and rodeo he didn't know what he would need. He noticed a small duffle and a garment bag sitting on the table. He hefted the duffle over his shoulder and carefully folded the garment bag into a comfortable square against his chest. He stepped back out of the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind him. Sam looked briefly up at him, did a double take, soaking in the strange look Dean had adopted with a few minuets to himself. Sam could have easily mistaken his motorcycle boot wearing, leather jacketed, gun toting, smooth talking, bad-ass brother for an even tempered (and from his experience with Celia and a very few other 'cowboy types' a majorly silent) ranch hand.

Sam's mind wandered briefly to why it was that said 'cowboy types' were prone to silence; even their portrayal in movies was their sheer lack of conversation.

Dean spared Sam a look then stepped down the stairs, dipping his head against the rain, and trotted across the sodden yard, passing the Impala and up to the Silverado. He pulled open the passenger door, then the quarter crew door and tossed the duffle and garment bag into the back, shutting the back door, hefted himself up into the shotgun seat and shut the door. Sam started at him from the porch with his hands dug deep into his jacket. Dean looked right back at him, waiting casually.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and trotted long legged across the yard, did the same as Dean and climbed into the back seat, shutting the doors. They slumped into their seats and listened to the muffled sound of rain hitting the truck. Sam sighed quietly, it seemed odd to him the he and Dean, the infamous Winchesters and hunters extraordinaire were huddling in a truck waiting to be ordered around.

"Hell hath no fury…" He quoted, thinking quietly of the anger in Celia's eyes and voice a few minuets earlier and making up an excuse for their meekness at Celia's voice.

"Amen." Dean muttered quietly.

The driver side door opened and Celia hauled her small frame up into the seat, shutting the door. Both brothers watched her as she ignored them completely, sank the key into the ignition and cranked on the Silverado's engine, the machine roared into life. Den shut his eyes, listening to the sound of primal snarling of the engine. He loved the deep bellied purr of the Impala, the comforting strength of it. But the growl of his baby was nothing like the bellowing snarl of the Silverado truck. It was like comparing the rumble of a puma to the roar of a grizzly. It was pure, massive power. It made his bones rattle just a little.

Celia put the truck into reverse, twisting around to watch as she backed up across the yard towards the horse trailer. Her practiced eye and experience she easily slipped into place in front of the trailer. She kicked open the door, stepped out, leaving the door open and went around to secure the hitch. Celia jogged back to the cab and climbed back in.

The rumble of the truck strengthened, churning into an unearthly roar as she kicked it up to four wheel drive and gassed. Dean felt the truck roll forward, brace, dig in and pull, like a massive draft horse setting into the leather of the harness. Dean and Sam twisted to watch as the horse trailer pulled out of place. The Silverado evened out, pulling until Celia eased to a stop, cranked into reverse, twisted around and watched as she carefully backed the trailer and truck towards the open doors of the barn. With a rumbled amplified by the cavern of the barn until the trailer and truck bed where shadowed by the barn. Celia cut the engine off and pushed open her door, sliding down and shut the door again.

Dean and Sam followed the instinct to help, climbing back out into the few seconds of rain and trotting into the barn. They were startled to see that except for four different horses all the stalls were empty.

"Can we help?" Sam asked over the truck bed. Celia looked at them, her seemingly perpetual scowl faded suddenly.

"Dean, why are ya wearin' my jacket?" She asked.

Dean glanced down at the doeskin coat, then back up at Celia. He shrugged, wondering why Celia would want to wear something so loose on her much smaller frame. Celia shook her head a little and decided now wasn't the time to pick a fight.

"Get a towel and rub out the bed." She said motioning towards the bed separating them. Dean scoffed a little at the menial task. He received a questioning glare from Celia and cleared his throat, looking down and away. She stepped back around the trailer, opened the doors and lowering the ramp to the floor with a thud of metal.

Sam and Dean started around the trailer, looking at it as they passed. It was a four horse air ride trailer, massive and sleek white metal detailed in chrome and black iron. A door to a storage compartment in front of the four square, barred windows, the window doors opened to let cool air flow in.

"Look." Sam motioned towards the side of the trailer. Dean looked up and raised his eyebrows; decaled into the side of the air ride was the logo of the Greer's ranch. The words _Wounded Heart Ranch and Stables_ were arched over a black silhouette image of a horse and what Dean assumed was a fox. The animals had their heads thrown back muzzles pointed up towards the words, ears cocked forward, a fore leg lifted off the invisible earth, other three legs planted firmly in stand and tails curved behind them. Under the animal images were two phone numbers with the Nevada area code and a website that Dean decided to check out later. What caught his eye was between the animals noses was a symbol that Dean knew to be Native American but he was unsure what tribe or what it meant.

"Know it?" Sam asked, Dean shook his head.

"Ladies, ya want to help, move it." Celia barked as she pulled Cottoneye Cloud out of his stall and swiftly covered the Quarter Horse with a padded blue blanket, buckling it into place. The tall palomino nickered at Sam, the younger Winchester smiled at the horse but followed on Dean's heels towards the tack room. They each grabbed a towel, walked back towards the Silverado and climbed awkwardly into the bed. They dropped the towels and used their boots to dry out the thick textured bed liner, following the grain, leaving muddy boot prints on the white towels but the bed and the bottom of their boots dry. Dean grabbed his towel and dried the metal of the tool box.

Sam jumped out of the bed and Dean gracefully climbed down using massive tread tire. They stepped around the trailer in time to watch Celia lead Cottoneye Cloud up the ramp into the trailer with a loud clomping of hooves on metal. The palomino nickered again at Sam before stepping into place, letting Celia tie his blue halter and lead into the hitch ring. His rear end swung instinctively around and Celia swung the first of three metal barriers into place. The solid steel below protecting the horse's legs and the bars above allowing them to socialize without being able to bite or attack each other. Cottoneye Cloud twisted his head around, way from looking out his barred window to nicker at them. Celia stepped down from the trailer and headed towards another stall, muttering to herself.

"Red?" Sam asked.

"There's a couple of rubber tubs in the tack room, white, put 'em in the bed." She said stepping up to stall, fitting a red halter over the head of a large mare. Stepping out the animal gave the brothers a clear view of her sleek, buckskin appaloosa coat. Celia glanced up at them as she turned the mare to stand while the red eyed woman threw a red blanket over her back.

"Topmoon Goldfinch, one of Blackbird's daughters." Celia said in passing and explanation. "Out of an appaloosa mare."

Sam nodded, reaching out and brushing his fingers over the pretty mare's nose as he and his brother made towards the tack room. Dean kneeled next to one of the tubs and pulled it open, his face contorted in confusion, he dipped his hand into the pile of fur tucked next to several carefully stacked Stetson hats, much cleaner and smoother looking than the ones that Dean, Sam and Celia had all worn on the trail with more elegant decoration rings. There were few sets of silver spurs, Texas chokers, broaches and hat pins. Dean pulled out one of the clumps of fur, petting out the sleek black coat.

"Is that a fox tail?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged, putting the tail back and closed the tub lid. Her lugged it up and started back towards the door; Sam quickly grabbed the other tub, larger and heavier than Dean's, and followed. Celia was draping a blue blanket over the back of a large, blue roan stud. He gave Cottoneye Cloud a run for the money in height, long black legs, and the fur they briefly saw like flecked blue steel, a sleek, large head, black face, perked ears and dark eyes. Smooth black mane and tail swished slightly as Celia snugged up the blue halter into place and untied the lead, she led him up the ramp with a thudding of massive hooves to the third hitch, tied him and pushed the barrier into place. The tubs in the bed Sam looked expectantly at Celia.

"Who was that?" Sam asked pointed towards the massive blue roan.

Celia glanced over her shoulder. "Secret weapon," she shrugged, "Four bales." She motioned towards the towering stack of hay bales. Sam sighed and headed towards the bale, he and Dean worked methodically, hauling down the four bales and tossing them into the bed next to the tubs, pushing them together.

Celia was putting a final few rubs down on Honeycatcher before putting his blue blanket into place, set his halter and led the stud into the final place of the trailer, slid the ramp back into place and shut the doors. Then Celia participated in loading equipment, Dean and Sam followed on her heels, picking up a bag of livestock grain, a small bag of dog chow and a third, empty rubber tub into the truck bed. Dean moved the garment bag and duffle in under the tool box, three cylinders of tarp cloth that he assumed where fold out chairs. Sam was sent to the kitchen to get an empty cooler and a cooler full of food to shove under the tool box with the duffle and garment bag. Finally tack, rugs of blue, black and red, different wove designs. Four different bridles and reins, breast collars, and three custom western saddles of different shades of leather color and designs, each with a lot of silver accents and decoration. The only consistency was that on the skirts of each saddle was the same etching among the individual patterns and designs. On the left side was the silhouette of a fox, the right a silhouette of a horse. The same as the logo on the side of the truck, and like the logo the Native American symbol was tacked into the leather above the horse's and fox's skyward pointed noses. Everything loaded and secured Celia used a key on her ring to open the tool box, fluidly and swiftly pulling out a black, leather like cloth, a Katana cover, she swiftly shut the tool box before either brother could look in it and used their help to snap the bed cover into place to protect the gear against the weather.

Dean and Sam were startled when they looked at the time and saw that the whole process had only taken a half an hour. Just after four a.m. the brothers and Celia climbed back into the truck and pulled out into the yard. Celia climbed out to shut the barn doors, jogged across the yard to the house; she pushed open the doors and stood back. Alamo, Buckshot and Valentine all trotted out onto the porch, standing and waiting while Celia shut and locked the door. They bounded across the yard after her when she opened the door leaped into the truck cab, leaving wet paw prints on the driver's seat as they climbed into place, Alamo and Buckshot scrambling over Sam to fill the rest of the back seat and Valentine shoving into the front seat, standing awkwardly until Celia climbed back into the cab, pushed up the armrest and creating a third seat between the passenger and driver seat. Valentine curled up in the space and draped his head over Dean's lap.

All three dogs were sporting odd silver link collars with barbs pointed in towards their throats. Pinch collars, training and service animal collar that had taken the canine world by storm. Their affectivity and design fulfilling everything that dog owners could want. Dean rubbed gently over Valentine's neck and shoulders.

Celia eased the truck out of the yard, pulling to a stop on the road, climbed out a final time to shut and chain the main gate shut.

"Alright." Celia said, climbing into the cab and putting the truck in gear, again the feeling of a draft horse lunging into his traces and harness for a long pull. Within a few minuets they were out on the main highway headed out of Tuscarora and heading south east, Sam was curled up and sleeping in the back seat with the collie and German Shepherd. Dean blinked, petting Valentine and feeling exhaustion creeping on him again. He looked at Celia, sitting comfortably behind one of the biggest and most powerful vehicles that Dean had ever encountered and (secretly) admired. He hadn't spoken to her in nearly five hours, the stiff silence weighted on him, he didn't know how to express his thanks for the message, or the hospitality or…any of what she did for him and Sam. Dean tugged at the doeskin coat, her doeskin coat.

"Where are we going?" He asked quietly, getting a glance in return. Dean felt like a sixth grader trying to talk to a girl, his stomach churned desperately, running with scenarios of how that small sentence had suddenly gone wrong, how he might have insulted her.

"Twenty five miles outside of Las Vegas. Sheridan swapped up the Elko grounds because a bunch of Vegas bitches were complainin' they weren't getting' a fair chance to compete." Celia muttered tiredly, bitterly. "I mean goddamn, its just a Labor Day thing, not a huge show but they gotta have a chance, have their way. Everyone always listens to Vegas 'cause they bitch too much, too much weight to throw around. Like the rest of Nevada doesn't matter, lyin'-ugly-opportunistic-self-centered-holier-than-thou bastards."

Dean was quiet for a few seconds, trying to think of a way that he could express his own contempt for the situation and sympathy for her frustration.

"Coyotes." Dean muttered. Celia glanced at him then snorted a small laugh; Dean's face broke into a grin, a feeling of ease blossoming in his chest.

"Yeah, they are." Celia agreed with a nod.

"Guess you'll have to beat their asses in the ring to get back at 'em, huh?" Dean almost whispered, glancing back as Sam shifted a little in his sleep.

"Oh hell yeah." Celia snorted.

Dean smiled and chuckled a little, he slumped down into his seat, getting comfortable. Celia reached for the radio and clicked it on, turning down the volume and cruising through the stations before she stopped at one and turned it up just a little to the baritone hums and thrums of a deeply souled blues song.

"Coco Taylor." Dean sighed, smiling at her.

"Delta blues, baby. Delta blues." Celia said

**…**

When Dean blinked his eyes open the truck wasn't moving. It was the first time he could remember a dreamless sleep. He had to peel his face away from the glass; some of the fleece collar had saved the more sensitive places at his jaw and near the ear from sticking to the window. Dean rubbed a hand across his slightly damp skin and lips. He twisted his head to better see out side the window, blinking as the rain had slackened into a pale drizzle. His eyes roved around the all to familiar landscape of a truck stop, several semis, Ford, Chevrolet and Dodge trucks of various sizes and the odd family sedan were parked around gas pumps or pulled up to a building constructed to look like a lodge. It reminded Dean of the Cabela's and Pro Bass Shop hunting stores that he, Sam and their father before them acquired hunting supplies, with a peaked roof of green tiles and large glass windows. Something between a gas stop, food court, market, sold trinkets, maps and ugly tee shirts and coffee mugs it was the sort of place you saw along main highways heading towards or away from a major tourist attraction.

Las Vegas certainly fell into that category.

Dean sniffed a little at the beds of flowers, starting to droop and die as fall closed in, the wooden picnic tables and out front a chainsaw carved sculpture of a coyote.

Dean twisted around and looked into the truck cab. Celia, Valentine and Buckshot were gone, but Alamo was curled up with Sam in the back seat, both sleeping peacefully. The younger Winchester's hand was contracting and relaxing slowly in the merle collie's fur around the ears, petting the dog's ears in sleep. Dean settled back into the front seat, digging into his pocket and slipping out his cell. It was just after six fifteen in the morning.

Dean sighed and hugged his 'stolen' jacket to his frame, entertaining himself by watching and taking in every detail of the parking lot and stop, soaking his senses. Drawing in the scents, sights and sounds. The most comforting of these was the steady sound of Sam breathing evenly.

Dean blinked as the door of the highway lodge opened, Celia, Buckshot and Valentine trotted out, picking up speed to a jog towards the truck. She clutched a package to her chest, holding her Stetson hat in place with her free hand.

_Dean blinked, Celia trotted across the cement, hanging tightly to John's hand. She lagged, trying to steer his father from the bee line for the car and toeing every puddle she could. John accommodated, letting her into the water before tugging her along. She pulled back, as if trying to get the black jumper as wet as possible, but it was clear that John wasn't as keen to soak his black suit. Dean looked down, shifting and tugging nervously at the tie and white shirt. Finally his door opened, Dean twisted to look at his soaking father and the little red head. Her eyes were cast down and she shifted nervously. Dean moved over in the back seat, pressing in closer to Sammy, and grabbed a rough blanket they'd forgotten to throw into the trunk that morning. _

"_C'mon, sweetheart." John encouraged, pulling on Celia's eight year old hand, lifting her towards Dean, Sam and the backseat. _

"_Where's Eli?" Dean felt himself asking. _

"_They're riding a head, Red's with us. He's going to be right in front of us." John said, trying to push Celia towards Dean, trying to be gentle and assuring at the same time. The elder Winchester remembered they rode in front too six years ago. Dean looked at the down cast and silent Celia, shivering in her jumper. Dean scooted over, reaching out and taking Celia's hand out of his fathers and pulled her up into his chest and side. He shivered at the feeling of icy rain water soaking through his dry clothes. He pulled the blanket around them, hugging her as tightly as he could. He felt Sam crawl in and press into his side. Dean instantly pulled his brother into their huddle. John sighed sadly, shutting the door. Dean's hug tightened around Celia's shaking frame when he felt her sob into his chest._

"_Dean?"_

"_What Sam?" Dean murmured, hugging Celia tighter, his cheek pressing into the small ridge of her horn. He felt her breathing into his throat._

_Sam looked at Celia for a second then back at his elder brother, whispering,"Can we share Dad with Red?"_

_Dean blinked at Sam, bright chocolate eyes, blinking at him, hoping for permission to share their father. _

"_I don't think she wants to share Dad." Dean said carefully, "Not today."_

Her head bowed against the rain as she broke into a sprint, skidding up to the truck door. She yanked open the driver's door, Buckshot and Valentine vaulting into the cab then pulled herself up. Sam grunted as Alamo jerked awake and Buckshot stepped on his legs. Valentine curled back into his place between Dean and Celia.

Celia huffed out a breath, Dean reached over and took the package from her, with a nod of thanks she pulled her hat off, setting it aside the same way that you did a coat, and grateful that it was there when you needed it but loathed to keep it on constantly. Dean knew by this small observation that Celia was more comfortable with her horns out in the open.

"Whats…we're…" Sam muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"A little over halfway there." Celia assured. "Just grabbin' some breakfast and gas." She reached for the container, and pulled out two lidded Styrofoam cups of coffee.

"Here Sammy." She handed one back to him.

"Thanks." Sam muttered, taking the cup and drinking from it hungrily. Celia sipped the other one and pulled a paper bag from the box, Dean smiled at the third cup of coffee and lifted it out with his free hand, and set the box on the cab floor. He sipped the coffee, grateful for the scalding heat rushing down his throat, thick taste of vanilla and pure caffeine, a little creamer. The soothing scent rushing into his nose.

"Here're some breakfast sandwiches, biscuits, egg, meat and the like. Can ya stomach it?" She asked, looking up at Dean as she pulled out two wax paper wrapped sandwiches, passing them back to Sam, who hungrily tore into one, burning his mouth and practically swallowing most of it in a single bite.

"I'll try." Dean rasped out thickly, truthfully. Sam looked up at the roughness in Dean's voice.

Celia looked at him for a long second before handing over two more wrapped biscuits. Dean accepted them and carefully unwrapped one, taking a daintier bite than Sam and chewing it carefully before daring to swallow. His stomach instantly roared for more, groaning and begging for actual food. But a look from Celia stopped him from wolfing down the rest of the sandwich and the second one. He took it slow, taking another bite and Celia nodded in approval. Digging out a biscuit for herself.

"Hashbrowns in the bag." She muttered.

"Yes!" Sam reached in and tore out one and stuffed it into his mouth. Celia looked round to make sure that Sam wasn't behind her, slid back her seat and hiked up her right boot, bracing it on the dashboard and with a muffled grunt of pain she hiked up the left, flinching until her ankles were crossed comfortably propped on the dashboard above the radio. She sighed once she was comfortable and looked the complete definition of 'cowboy'. She bit through the sandwich with a deep expansion of her chest.

"Where to?" Sam asked quietly.

"'Round Vegas."

"Coyotes." Dean muttered a little, Celia snorted a small laugh.

"Yep."

"What are you competing in?" Sam asked.

"Barrels, reinin' and cuttin', western pleasure gaits three, four and five, and halter show. But Sheridan wants me to go for Rodeo Queen. Asked me to and told 'em I would." Celia growled slightly.

Dean and Sam glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Whats that?" Sam asked, remembering Celia mentioning, more like screaming, into her cell that she was 'too old' to be a Queen again and that she might have performed it at the Nationals in Las Vegas before.

"Basically ya compete _and_ win in all the events ya can enter with as many points as ya can and at the end the person with the most overall gets ranked event's champion, or Rodeo Queen or King, and ya get a prize for it on top of what ya won." Celia shrugged.

"What prize?" Sam asked.

"Fifteen hundred dollars cash and a fifteen hundred dollar custom saddle by Weaver Leather. That's what Sheridan said, anyway." Celia shrugged again. Dean and Sam glanced at each other again.

"You said you were Rodeo Queen at the Nationals in Las Vegas, while you were screaming on the phone." Sam added quickly to avoid being accused of eavesdropping. Celia sighed, looking out towards the parking lot, then nodded.

"The American National Horseshow Championships." She sighed. Sam's eyebrows lifted at the idea of the size of that accomplishment.

"What did you win for that?" Sam asked.

"Um…a couple of silver belt buckles, couple of beaver Stetsons, a red leather tack set with a lot of silver in-lay real fancy stuff…um…" She took a sip of her coffee, "Five grand on top of the fifteen grand I got for individual events and a truck."

"A truck?" Dean gasped.

"Damn, maybe we should be cowboys instead of hunters." Sam muttered.

"This truck?" Dean asked.

"No, it was some weird little SUV sort of thing, a Ford…maybe an Explorer. Eli drives it. I hate the damn thing." She shrugged, "Some people think it's worth it gettin' that worked up, makin' yerself sick, makin' yer horses sick."

"You did it." Sam sniffed.

"Yeah but I was _good_ at it." She chuckled, "Damn good and I did it the _right_ way."

"Why not this little show, then?" Sam asked.

Celia sighed and rolled her eyes, "That was four years ago, Sam. I was a pup of twenty one. I'm too old. Cain't do that kind of shit again." She shook her head. "Cain't."

"Twenty five is old?" Sam scoffed.

"No, _I'm_ too old." Celia growled. "To beat up, to worn out, I can't keep up with the young bucks."

"No way. They can't have three steps on you." Sam pressed, biting more gingerly into his second sandwich, forcing himself to make it last and pouring on his own, gentler brand of charm.

Celia huffed a soft chuckle. She reached around and ruffled Sam's hair, cupping his jaw for a few seconds. "Yer sweet, darlin'." She said, lightly patting his cheek a final time before resting her hand on her hip, actually tucking it into her pocket.

Sam smiled wryly, chewing and glanced at Dean, smiling more broadly at the slightly put out look on his elder brother's face. A very fine spark of jealousy in Dean's eyes at Celia's praise.

Celia heaved a sigh and looked almost longingly into the world outside. Dean could almost see her searching for an intangible past.

"I'm old." Celia said into the silence. "Not me but _him_."

The brothers tensed, they had avoided speaking about Celia's condition concerning the demon Shikoaka, now she was bringing it up.

"The damn things live forever, ya know?" She sipped her coffee. "Him, this one that's got me, he's got to have a couple eons on him. And I can feel every single day of it."

They listened quietly, fascinated. Except for Sam's brief period as a host neither brother understood what it was like to be possessed. Even more so what it was like for someone conscious of that fact, aware of the pressure on their soul.

"It's a bitch." She snorted, biting out another mouthful, chewing and swallowing she heaved a sigh.

"What's it like?" Dean asked, she looked around at him. "What does it feel like, being tied to that thing?"

Celia sat back and thought for a second.

"Heavy." She said finally, simply.

"Heavy?" Sam asked.

"Extremely heavy." She looked at them sincerely. "Just…its just weight…weight ya cain't loose. Heavy." Celia filled her chest gently, as if trying to expand it all the way three quarters of the way there she stopped, as if there was no more room to fill. Her chest literally wouldn't expand all the way.

"Cain't breathe all the way." She said, exhaling tiredly.

There were a few seconds of causal silence, companionable silence.

"What's it like havin' a drug dependency?" Celia asked out of the blue. Sam almost bit into his hand and Dean choked briefly on his coffee. Dean looked at her and got nothing in return but a raised eyebrow, a questioning and sincere look.

Dean had to look way and searched the parking lot around them. He did a few deep breaths, there was no where to go, nothing to shake away from this conversation.

"Helpless." He muttered. "I hate it."

"Then why?! What the hell are you doing then! Putting poisons and God, that's why you've been drinking so much!" Sam threw his hands up and barking right in Dean's ear. The elder Winchester tensed, coiling and immediately falling into a defensive mindset.

"Sam." Celia said harshly, a tone to similar to the authoritative growl of their father that both brothers locked their jaws shut and looked at her. Celia gave it a second, taking a bite from her sandwich and a sip from her coffee. Once she had swallowed she sighed and shot Sam a look, her red eyes filled with speech. Sam instinctively ducked his head little, the message was clear: _Don't yell at him_.

Dean didn't function under accusation and intervention. It wasn't his nature. He clammed up and turned to charm and smart-assed remarks.

Celia turned her eyes forward and sipped at her coffee again, letting the brothers cool down for a minuet.

"How long?" She asked Dean casually, approaching the whole situation like he was a nervous horse.

"How long what?" Dean asked, a little stiffly and still slightly defensive.

"I've been at it for twenty-six years comin' October." Celia said, offering a trade.

Dean sighed, "I don't know…few months…", being careful about what he said but he was clearly starting to relax a little.

"Why?" She glanced at him before looking away again. Dean took a deep chest full of air before slumping, he took a bite from his sandwich, finishing it off and swallowing. Sam resisted every urge he had to push Dean and scream at him, resigning to nervously clenching his hand into a fist.

"You can't tell me why." Dean accused, trying to weasel his way out of approaching the conversation.

"Unlucky, revenge, hate, war, ya want me to go on?" Celia sighed.

"War?" Sam breathed under his voice, his mind immediately flying to the countless times that a war was mentioned in their dealings with demonic forces.

Celia shrugged it off and looked expectantly at Dean. Dean sighed, one thing he knew about demons, wither they were in control or otherwise, that they didn't take kindly to unfair trades.

"I didn't know what else to do." Dean muttered, the cliché was written on his face. "I couldn't… function…couldn't hunt, help Sam…sleep…it was everywhere and I couldn't get away from it…"

Celia nodded calmly in understanding.

"When one didn't work, two did…when two stopped working…"

"It got out of hand." Celia concluded.

"Yeah." The word escaped Dean's lips like an arrow pulled from a wound. "I just…I couldn't do it alone anymore-"

"Dean." Celia cut him off, stopping the elder brother from falling into a ceaseless monologue of repetitive words talking about how all addicts started, looking for a way out, then it spun outward out of control.

"Ya didn't do anythin' wrong." She said, Dean practically choked, twisting round to stare at her.

"Red-"  
"Ya didn't do anythin' wrong." She said with finality. "Look, when Nathaniel was KIA I freaked like that, too. Didn't do drugs or anythin' like that, I was eight, but I went lookin' for trouble, sure as hell…found it, too… Ya go lookin' for somethin' so strong that it drowns ya, right?"

Dean nodded, Sam felt his own head dip a little, remembering the feelings of loss being so complete after Jessica's death, then their father's and then Madison's.

"Ya didn't do anythin' wrong, Dean. Ya did somethin' normal for a change." Celia sniffed a little. "But there are just some mustangs ya cain't give their freedom. They won't come back. Ya cain't let the kind of shit get out of control. And that's another thing we gotta talk 'bout when we're not crashin' towards Vegas."

Dean slumped back into the seat, a blossoming feeling of peace in his chest. _Normal_. Celia said it was normal, out of control but _normal_. And he was giving him a free ride, for a little while at least. The longer, more stretched out the intervention was it was easier to deal with it. Dean had to admit that Celia knew what she was doing; she would make one hell of a councilor.

"Consider yerself lucky, son of John, ya been twisted with heatstroke and sleepin'. Yer gettin' it out of yer system in sweat and dreams, not the sufferin' some have to take." Celia snorted, brushing her hands together, setting her coffee in the cup holder and pulled her seat back up; she stuck the key into the ignition and twisted round to look at the Winchesters. "So. Get it all the way out of yer system, stay off the stuff, man up, suffer like the rest of us and we talk more when the works done, yeah?"

Dean nodded.

"Alright yer membership card from club crash and burn will arrive in the mail." Celia sniffed, smiling a little.

She revved the engine to life and easily steered the truck and trailer out onto the highway.

**…**

The rain stopped an hour and a half later as their drive closed in on the fair grounds near Las Vegas, the Big Town Horse Park. The sun was just trying to break. The grounds were made up of temporary and permanent pipe fencing standing as pens, white fence exercise and performance rings, constructed stables of stone, steel and wood, there were festival stalls raised of tent work or temporary wood were vendors were setting up for the day. The smell of fried foods, sweets and carbonated drinks accompanied the general scent of a barn and graze field. All set back in the rolling spans of scrub brush and backwood growth.

Massive trucks and SUVs were parked or pulling into a parking spot next to massive, sleek trailers, horses of all sizes, breeds, shapes and color were being led around or tied to trailers or shifting around behind a stall door. Dogs, mutts or purebreds, bounded happily on the ends of leashes or barked from stakes in the ground. Children tugged at child-sized cowboy hats, playing with trucks or stuffed animals and teased or tortured each other. Elder siblings hauled around tack and adults toted paperwork and feed while competitors cleaned up themselves, horses, went over strategies and in a few clear glitz and glam cases seemed to be complaining about conditions of the grounds while sipping out of expensive bottled waters or power drinks.

Celia pulled the truck to a stop as a petite woman in a Texans ball cap and a tee shirt reading _63__th__ Annual Sheridan Labor Day Horseshow_.

"Hey Lynn." Celia said, rolling down her window. Lynn Sheridan grabbed a hold of the handle just inside of the Silverado's cab, normally used to pull yourself up into the cab. The woman pulled herself up and balanced on the step bar, leaning in the rolled down window. Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail under the Texans hat, bright blue eyes looking strained and tired. Her skin was tanned brown and weathered. Celia swiftly took her hand for a firm shake.

"Hey Red." Sheridan sighed, balancing and leafing through the paperwork on her clipboard. "These yer hands?" Sheridan's eyes flicked to Dean and Sam.

"Yeah, Dean and Sam Wilson." Celia said.

Dean waved.

"Hey." Sam waved, too.

"Howdy, fellas." She said absently, not really looking at them. He pulled a fine tip sharpie from behind her ear and flipped up the papers to a sheet of bright orange paper wrist bands. She swiftly wrote a number, few letters and the words _Wounded Heart Ranch_ on three of them before ripping the bands away from the sheet, she passed them to Celia, who handed them to Dean.

"4502B, Red. But yer in Barn A, ten and eleven. Ya just made Pole time." Sheridan muttered.

"Well if I had a little more notice." Celia said as she signed off the paper Sheridan held out and accept a few slips of colored copies.

"Look Red, I left you three different messages yesterday around noon, it's not my fault ya didn't answer and called me at three in the mornin'." Sheridan sniffed back.

"Alright, alright." Celia muttered.

"Hey, I don't like it anymore than ya. My great granddad would roll in his grave if he knew that I was lettin' Vegas pressure me into uprootin' the show. When ya get a chance head to the office to sign in officially for yer events and get yer numbers. Here's a sheet for riders name and horse names and a list of events." Sheridan handed her another paper that looked like an empty spread sheet and an events list. "Ya know the drill 'bout changes and all that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"Alright, thanks for joinin' us here at the Sheridan Labor Day Horseshow." Sheridan said unenthusiastically.

"Thanks, Lynn."

"Red, please run for Rodeo Queen-" Celia shook her head and looked like she had stopped listening to Sheridan.

"Red if ya don't its nobody but some hoity toity bastard from the strip named William Shakes!" Sheridan pleaded. "I cain't have some bitch from Vegas being the Queen of my great granddad's show! And trust me when I say 'Queen'."

"I'm too old, Sheridan." Celia said and put the truck in gear. Sheridan dropped back down to the earth and stepped back, taking the hint.

"I'll come by and talk to ya 'bout it later." Sheridan called as Celia pulled away.

"No, Sheridan." Celia called back and pulled the truck into a gravel and dirt track through the fair grounds, arenas and stable yards. The truck rumbled, roaring deeply, as if challenging the other trucks around. Celia eased passed a woman leading a gray Arabian and steered around towards the far barn, behind it a paddock of white fencing, broken up into quadrants. Celia pulled around between the paddocks, stalls and other parked trailers and trucks, following the fencing and stalls towards the right number.

"There's ten." Sam pointed out of Dean's window.

Celia swung the truck out and around, expertly turning in to park in a wide space between a red Dodge and five horse air ride and a dark blue Chevrolet Colorado and a small, two horse trailer. There was plenty of room between the two trucks and Celia's Silverado. Celia put the truck in park.

The three dogs, two brothers and rancher all let out a tightly held sigh of thanks and relaxation at the sound of silence drifting from the Silverado.

"Alright, before ya even get out put on a wrist band." Celia took the orange bands from Dean, tore one off, striped off the backing on the end and used the adhesive to link it around her wrist. He tore the other two free and passed them over. The brothers following her example to link the band around their wrists.

"No one'll hassle ya with the bands on and ya won't get thrown out or anythin'. And if yer lucky a couple of different chow stops might give ya a discount."

"Cool." Sam said.

Celia reached across Dean's lap and flipped open the glove compartment. She pulled out three bundled leather leashes. She twisted around clicked the shanks into place on the dog's pinch collars before they opened their doors. Valentine scrambled over Dean to get out, the elder Winchester catching the leash and holding tight as Valentine pulled at the end until he slipped out and stepped away from the truck. His muscles felt stiff and tired, cramped, it felt good to move freely again. A few seconds the same thing happened to Sam, the younger brother just barely grabbing the lead as Buckshot took a flying leap out of the truck. The elder German Shepherd whirled around, snapped his jaws shut on the leather lead and tugged to save himself from being choked by the pinch collar. Valentine barked wildly, bouncing in place with just enough slack in the leash to keep from choking. The brothers watched as Alamo dropped down to the earth with a grunt, stumbling and wearily turning and walking stiffly towards the front of the truck, dragging his lead behind him. The massive old collie decided he'd gone far enough and collapsed down to the earth in front of the tire and immediately set to fall asleep.

Sam struggled to reach back and shut the quarter door then the passenger and tried to pull the heavy Buckshot with him, but the German Shepherd growled and tugged hard on Sam. Valentine's barking reached a higher pitch making Dean and Sam flinch.

"Red!" Sam called. Celia stepped around the front of the truck, pulling her Stetson down around her ears.

"Hey! Quiet!" She said sharply and both dogs stopped making any noise but continued to twitch and tug at their leashes.

Celia sighed and the dogs whined quietly.

"Boys, why don't ya take the boys for a walk, have a look 'roud. Enjoy yerselves." Celia said, waving them off.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, he'd gotten used to the idea that he and Dean were along for this ride to be help to Celia. "Don't you need us?"

Dean looked up sharply and Sam forced down a swallow and shift of weight at the way that had come out.

"Later, yeah. Let's take a break." Celia brushed him off, the Winchesters exchanging looks, the dogs tugging at them again. "Go on, get." Celia ordered.

The dogs didn't need more encouragement and lunged against their leads, choking heavily and yanking the Winchesters into a walk away from the truck and Celia.

"Keep 'em on the leash!" Celia called as she walked towards the two stalls and pulled open the doors to inspect them.

"Alright!" Sam called back. The two shepherds pulled and tugged until they were sure the Winchesters would keep walking then they fell into a casual pace, only stopping to sniff at this, that and the other thing and once or twice to lift their legs against a fence post.

Celia had made a good call, neither brother had realized how much they needed to get away from each other for a little while until they couldn't see Celia and didn't pay much attention to each other. Sam wandered casually, walking slower than Dean and putting space between them that was little compared to what most siblings would after a long, confined car ride but for Sam and Dean it felt like they had gone separate ways for a while. The Winchester brothers had learned from and early age to enjoy their 'alone time' within eye sight and ear shot of each other. It felt good to allow tension to flow off of their frames and relax. Stretch their legs and backs. Normally they didn't have time to stretch, as soon as the Impala parked there was research to be done, people to interview, graves to be dug up. Sleep wasn't even relaxing; this was a nice change of pace.

Dean breathed out, there was a damp chill in the air and he was thankful for the warmth of the fleece coat and he and Sam strolled casually back up the dirt track around the stables towards the arenas and show rings and festival stalls. Their boots sank a little into the earth with each step and the scent of wet soil and sand mixed with the equine and human smell. The brothers used well trained keen eyes and ears to catch scraps of different conversations going on around them and inspect truck, trailers, horses and riders. They walked casually passed carnival games, and racks of trinkets and greasy fried foods. A truck or two were backed into place between a tent and stall selling feed out of the back, there were a few spots packed with custom and cataloged saddles, bridles, bits, blankets and other tack. A man with a red trailer had a massive stand of steel and iron tools and leather chaps and aprons with a small banner across his trailed reading _Steven Meyer: Specialty Ferrier_. The large man, his arms ropes of thick muscle had a small fire built into a cast iron bowl and was heating a horseshoe while a young girl stood waiting with her piebald pony. He was speaking reassuringly to her as she wiped tears from her eyes.

Sam stopped to watch for a second while Buckshot sniffed at a flower bed.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. He won't go lame, the shoe just got twisted. It's not yer fault, alright?" The ferrier rumbled with a small smile.

The little blonde nodded and pet the pony's nose.

"Ya did everythin' right." He pulled the shoe out of the fire, used a hammer to beat it into shape against an anvil and carried the red hot metal over, lifting the pony's hoof and pressed it against the bottom of the hoof. Sam expected the animal to lunge away but the piebald pony only cocked his ears back.

"Just a little more, Miss Molly."

"Okay, thanks Mister Meyer."

"Yer welcome, honey." He stuck the shoe back into the heat. Sam would have liked to stay and watch the interaction further but the tug at the leash he turned and jogged with Buckshot to catch back up to Dean.

"People are really nice here." Sam muttered, looking back over his shoulder toward the ferrier saying something to the little blonde and she giggled back.

"Yeah." Dean sighed as they walked along a row of trailers.

"I _wanted _foam, you idiot!"

"Mostly." Dean and Sam looked around as a tall, sandy haired man threw a Styrofoam coffee cup into the earth and slammed his riding boot down on it in his fit. The dark haired man that had handed it to him flinched.

"And it's black!"

"There was nothing I could do, William. It was the only coffee they had." The brown haired man said stiffly. The blonde snarled in his face, growling something low and dangerous. Sam and Dean stopped walking; instinctively to watch as the blonde threw a fit and sizing up if they needed to step in to break up a fight. Dressed in dark, designer jeans and a red silk button down, hair slicked back the blonde looked as close to a big time business man trying to go country as you could get in real life or cinema.

The blonde seemed to feel the Winchesters watching him and whirled around like a wildcat, eyes flashing until he saw who was watching him. His eye brows went up and the ugly snarl melted off of his features. Actually giving away a pretty-boy handsomeness.

The way his eyes roved over Dean and Sam briefly, practically drinking in their looks, soaking it up like a sponge. It made the brothers shift nervously.

"C'mon." Dean urged his younger sibling into moving and they led the two dogs quickly passed the blonde, the dark haired man, the truck and trailer. Dean and Sam's eyes quickly flashed over the logo on the side of the red trailer, a swallow and rose design that looked more like a tattoo than a logo and the words: _Shakespeare Stables; Las Vegas, Nevada_. With a phone number that Dean hoped he would forget in a hurry. The two Winchesters felt invasive eyes on their backs as they walked away and after a few long seconds the blonde seemed to have restored his fit, screaming at his assistant again.

"Jerk much?" Sam muttered. Dean grunted in response, trying to shake off the feeling of the man's eyes on his back.

Sam and Dean walked through the stables, glancing at horses and a few mules. Wandering slowly back towards where Celia had parked.

"Horse would be fun." Sam said absently, making a double take at a pretty black mare as she was walked passed them. Dean looked over at his brother.

"Oh God." Dean rolled his eyes heavenward. Sam bristled a little.

"What?"

"You're such a girl."

Sam snorted and turned his eyes back forward.

"I can hear it now: 'Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is a pony'." Dean snorted.

"Jerk." Sam snarled back.

"Bitch." Dean returned casually. "Look, there's Red."

He motioned towards the red haired and eyed rancher. She had changed out of the baggy, worn jeans into a pair of hugging, dark Wranglers and the white tee shirt had been replaced with one more fitting to her frame. She was using a hand pump to fill the second of two large, rubber buckets. The first brimming with fresh water. She seemed to be straining, and let out a tired snort, rubbing her forehead without taking off her hat. With a grunt she heft a filled bucket in each hand and started slowly and stiffly back along the dirt track towards her truck and trailer. Dean and Sam glanced at each other at the heavy limp in her walk.

The two brothers and dogs broke into jogs, coming up on each of her sides. Dean and Sam freed up a hand and grabbed a hold of the outwards handles of the buckets and pulling to help Celia with the weight. She jumped a little, slopping the water, then smiling tiredly, thanked them.

"No problem Red." Dean said with a flitting smile.

The three of them marched up the slight slope towards the stables and evened out. Alamo lifted his head as they approached.

"Buck, Valentine, climb." Celia ordered, throwing her head in the general direction of the two plastic tubs she pulled from the truck bed. Without waiting for Dean and Sam to let go of the leashes the two massive shepherds bounded forward and each leaped on top of the tubs, sitting on their haunches and pinning their ears. They whined a little, the two Winchesters tossed their leads over and helped ease the buckets to the concrete walk outside of the stalls. Celia had unloaded the four horses, Honeycatcher and Cottoneye Cloud in stall eleven and Blackbird's daughter and the secret weapon, still in his blanket, in stall ten. Celia pulled open stall eleven and heaved one rubber bucket into the door, setting it down next to a second one already there, she shut the stall and looked up to see Dean doing the same in stall eleven. Sam leaned heavily over stall eleven door and was happily rubbing the palomino Quarter Horse's nose. Cottoneye Cloud was nickering quietly and nipping at the insides of Sam's wrists and forearms. The palomino was pressing into the stall door, trying to get as close to Sam as possible, nickering and threw his head over Sam's shoulder, giving him a horse hug; squeezing Sam's shoulder and chest between his jaw and neck. Celia and Dean stepped around the younger Winchester meeting and walking towards the truck together.

"Sure has a crush on that horse." Dean muttered.

"That horse has a crush on him. Buck, Valentine, down." Celia responded and both German Shepherds dropped to the earth, dragged their leashes over and plopped on the earth next to Alamo.

"They're well trained." Dean commented.

"K-9 standards." Celia responded, Dean lifted and eyebrow to prompt more, "My dad was shooting for the dogs when he passed away. He was going to school at night to be a trainer, taught me, Alamo, Eli and this old Blue Tick we had everything he learned for practice. I used it on the boys when they were puppies."

Dean nodded in approval. "They've got attack commands, then."

"Yep." Celia climbed the back tire into her truck bed and tugged out the folded chairs and coolers, handing them down to Dean, before stepping down herself. She stumbled when weight came down on her left knee. Dean swiftly dropped a cooler to the earth and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his chest and stopping her fall.Dean felt her heart beat thudding in her chest; she actually hugged Dean's arms closer around her waist for a few seconds before a slight struggle signaled him to set her down on the earth. He kept his arm around her waist for a minuet longer.

"Thanks, Dean." She breathed, "Missed it there."

"Red, I don't think you should ride." Dean pressed, hopefully. He regretted it instantly at the mild look of betrayal on her face.

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**I love rides to get to rodeos waaaaaaay out there and you always get pissed and dangerous loading up, then you get that one song on the radio and you calm down and everyone you don't really want to talk to falls asleep then you get to that one bad-ass pit stop on the way there and you really 'talk' then you get where you're going and there's that silence and you just thinks 'OHTHANKGOD!' and you go exploring and stretching… I love road trips…**

**Read and Review, the planet mary and all her woes… **


	21. Push A Little Harder

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! WISH YOU LIVED CLOSER SO I COULD TAKE YOU TO GARTH BROOKS 'CAUSE I GOT GARTH BROOKS TICKETS!!!!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty One: Push A Little Harder**

"**Don't think there are no crocodiles when the water is calm."**

**-Malayan Proverb**

**…**

Celia lifted her head proudly.

"Red, I think you're really hurt, you could permanently damage your knee." Dean protested. "Never ride again, for one stupid show you don't even want to do."

"My knee's already permanently damaged, been that way for eighteen years. I've learned to suffer with it." Celia growled matter-of-factly. "If I let it stop me I'd been sittin' on my ass gainin' weight all that time."

"That doesn't mean you should over extend yourself." Dean sniped back, glad to have something as firepower against her.

"I think I'm aware of my own limits, Dean." Celia sniffed and hefting up two of the folding chairs and walking back around the front of the truck. Dean couldn't help the ways his eyes could on focus on the distinct, strained limp in her step. The elder Winchester growled in frustration and grabbed the other chair and empty cooler. Celia was unfolding one chair and setting it up next to the plastic tubs of equipment, from where it was someone sitting in it could easily see the truck, trailer, the stalls and horses and down the dirt track in the park grounds. There was no way for someone to sneak up on that position unless it came from directly above, below or behind. The second chair and third set up a small semi circle so all angels were covered. Dean turned back to grab the cooler of food, setting it down between the second and third chair, the empty one a few feet in front of the first one. Alamo hefted himself up to his paws and stiffly walked over to settle between the first and second chair, grunting himself back to sleep.

"Red-" Dean started.

"Sammy!" Celia called, making the other brother jerk around and look at her, Cottoneye Cloud took the advantage and slobbered happily all over Sam's shoulder, neck and hair.

"Shit!" The younger Winchester leapt back rubbing his hand across the saliva.

"Sammy, run an errand for me." Celia dug into her pocket, extracted a thin wallet and slipped out thirty dollars. "Go find a guy named Bud Miller, give him this and order a number two." She held up two fingers handing him the money, "Say thanks, bring back what he gives ya and give it to me. Don't question it, just do it."

Sam clearly bristled at that order. "But-"

"Sammy, just do it." Celia said, calmly and clearly.

The rebellion still burned in Sam's eyes but he started back down the dirt track towards the grounds.

"What was that?" Dean asked roughly. Celia only sighted and fell heavily into one of the chairs, lifting her legs stiffly up off the earth and setting them on top of the empty cooler.

"Y'all thank me later, I swear." She tugged her hat down over her eyes and leaned back as if to take a nap. Dean shifted, unsure what to do, his used his foot to nudge open the cooler of food and peer inside. With a slight shrug and a glance at Celia he reached in and pulled out a package of the same trail mix Celia had given him on the patrol ride, he dug out a chunk of crystallized honey, stuck it into his cheek and started to suck on it, setting himself into another of the chairs, making himself comfortable.

"You awake?" He muffled out.

"Sorta." Celia mumbled back, shifting to cross her arms over her chest.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" He asked.

"Nope."

Dean waited for a second. "Do you need to sleep?"

"Dean, I'm human. I feel pain and happiness, I need to sleep, eat, use the bathroom, vomit, and a bunch of other bodily functions that normal humans do." Her tone was like a teacher explaining a rather simple concept to the only child in class that still didn't get it. "I can get drunk, sick, I have fears and anxieties and I can die naturally. And yes, sex ain't that bad, either."

"Alright, alright. Sorry." Dean growled.

"No yer not." Celia snapped back, the tension and standoffishness between them snapping sharply and loudly, like a breaking bone. "So quit apologizin'. It's pissin' me off."

"What do you want me to do then?" Dean snapped back, getting to his feet and crossing his arms defensively over his chest. Celia shoved her hat up out of her eyes and glared at him.

"I just told ya, quit apologizin' when ya don't mean it. Worse than lyin'." She snarled.

Dean bristled, glanced over his shoulder and noticed Sam starting back their way, his arms laden with a package.

"In the truck." Dean snarled.

"Fine." She was up in a second. Dean climbed into the passenger seat and Celia the driver's seat. They shut their doors and Dean swiftly pushed the mechanized locks to keep anyone from interfering. The two shepherds scrambled to their feet and looked longingly up at them, whining. Alamo only twitched his ears tiredly.

There was a second of absolute silence between Dean and Celia, as if checking to make sure they would not be heard. The tension boiling up in the second exploded the instant they knew they were in 'private'.

"Alright! I already fucking know that you're pissed at me because I can't remember anything!" Dean roared, his face creeping red in frustration, "But that's not my fault!"

"Ya did somethin'! Had to have! Ya and Sam! A huge part of yer life just doesn't up and melt for no reason!"

"Leave him out of this, this is about you and me!"

"Hard to leave him out! He's as guilty as ya are!"

"If you're so goddamn concerned about us remembering stuff then why don't you just tell us, out right! From the beginning! Why!?! Because it's 'not your place'!?!"

"No!"

"Then you can't bitch and moan and get mad at me because you're not helping me any to solve the problem! That's bullshit and you know it! It's not fair!"

"FAIR!?! Are ya fuckin' with me!?! With that fair shit!?! Ya think ya got it bad, ya still have Sammy! And yer Dad before he bit it! I lost my best friends and _another _father, my brother's spent most of the last five years in an outta the Middle East and I gotta take care of my Momma and sister! Can ya figure that when I get wind of ya comin', see ya sittin' there on the crossroads waitin' for help that I don't get this idea that maybe, just fuckin' maybe ya'd remember me and things could settle! Sorry if I get worked up at the idea that ya figured I dropped off the face of the earth! Worse! Ya don't even fuckin' know who I was! How the hell would ya like it if Sam and John took off and showed back up one day clueless as to ya were!?! Huh!?!"

"I didn't know I forgot you!"

She snorted, clearly disbelieving, looking away. Dean glanced down the dirt track and could see Sam heading up towards them, his eyes searching around for himself and Celia.

"Celia I swear to God that if I had any idea I had forgotten you don't you think for one second I wouldn't have tried my damndest to figure out how the hell it happened! And I'm sorry about what I said at the ranger station! I swear I am!"

It was the truth. Dean inwardly thanked his stars that Celia wasn't an ordinary person as she tried to make herself out to be. The demon within gave her an insight others would have brushed him off with a response alike to 'you're just saying that'. The way Celia bristled and dropped her eyes Dean knew that she could tell he wasn't lying. But old instincts die hard and Dean continued to press that he meant it.

"I swear." He said, in a calmer and hopeful tone. "I mean…goddamn it must be some hell kind of mojo to forget someone like you….you're…insane."

Celia sniffed, bristling just slightly, but Dean knew he was on the right track. He was searching every reservoir and trick his had when dealing with women, trying to find a way in same with any girl in a bar. But for Celia it was harder almost surgical. The broken bit of memory of Nathaniel's funeral, Sam offering to share John, it was all still raw, fresh in his mind, and he did and said everything gingerly.

"I can't understand why you're angry, not really. I know _why_ but I can't _understand_ it. I've never been in that position before."

Celia slumped a little in her seat and Dean pressed on, choosing his words carefully, trying to use terminology that he assumed Celia or another native of Nevada might use under that circumstances. He always tried to make the people around him feel more comfortable when he was talking to them. If it put the hint of a twang in his voice and picked up lingo then so be it.

"I can't solve the problem if I don't know what the hell I'm shooting at."

Celia sighed again; she licked her lips and slid lower in the seat until it was clear that she was uncomfortable. Dean sat up straighter and leaned over her a little.

"I'm sorry I freaked when I found out about the horns." He motioned at her ram's set. "I'm sorry I tore up your yard and cuffed you to a fence post, I'm sorry my brother and I are soaking up your time and energy, I'm sorry that I hurt your knee and for fighting with you in the ranger station and wearing your stupid coat, sorry that I'm as bullheaded as you are and being a complete ass, sorry for anything that I've done to stress you out in the last few days, sorry that I messed myself up-"

"Quit sayin' yer sorry." She muttered, shifting, looking even more uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry I forgot and left you here." Dean leaned lower, his face contorted with concern and a fine layer of inner turmoil. He swallowed, his throat dry. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, his green eyes pleading and hopeful. She filled her chest as full as it could get, still her lungs didn't expand, like she had a huge stone tied to her ribs. Her mean streak revolted, roaring at her to stay pissed and go after him.

"Sorry." She said it in a bare whisper. "For what I've treated ya like…"

Dean smiled, the first genuine smile in a few days. He didn't hesitate, leaning over the arm rest and wrapping one arm tightly around her frame, pulling her as close to his chest as he could. Celia sighed, a deep release of strain and hugged him back. Her spine and muscles aching from the odd position flared with a little pain at being squeezed one armed by Dean but she suffered through it and held onto him as long as he held onto her. He finally pulled back, sitting back in the passenger seat and rubbed a hand lightly over her shoulder before loosing all contact.

"That was hard." Celia muttered.

"Tell me."

They snickered quietly once. Watching in silence as Sam strode into their little encampment and twisting his mop haired head around looking for them. The younger Winchester actually turned around a few times in place and called out. The sound muffled by the Silverado's frame.

"Five bucks say's he doesn't even look in the truck." Dean said with a small smile, sinking down a little in his seat to obscure himself from Sam's view.

"Done." Celia said, reaching across and they swiftly shook hands. Silence hung as they watched the younger Winchester actually start to pace around, still holding onto the package in his arms. Their eyes followed him as she strode right passed Celia's window and towards the trailer.

"Jesus help us, that poor child." Celia muttered and Dean snorted with a small smile in his lips. It faded.

"Help me. I want to know." His tone was borderline desperate. "I want to understand."

Celia sighed, her chest filling as far as it would go then collapsed again.

"We've done a lot of stuff, Dean. Thumpin' 'round the way we did and the kind of kids we were; there was a lot to do and we did it…stuff you can't do again. Can't get back."

Dean swallowed, wishing he knew what he'd missed. The little black outs of memory he'd been struck with now an again were comforting, nothing dangerous or warning like Sam's visions…except for the funeral. He'd felt physically sick for a little while after that one, the rush of emotion coming back to him with the fresh loss…

"Like what?"

They were quiet when they heard Sam's boots thudding loudly on the ramp of the trailer.

"Little things and big things…" Dean looked over, her eyes were a little unfocused, clouded, but there was reluctant tone in her voice.

"Embarrassing huh?"

"A lot of it." She muttered.

"C'mon, you're finally talking to me. Give me something." Dean coaxed, if he could he would have busted out the puppy eyes that Sam always used on him, but some people had the puppy eyes and some didn't. Dean didn't.

"Learnin' how to drive, huntin', game I mean, like buck, ya know…and the other kind of huntin' once or twice…just lots of first times."

Dean cocked his eyebrows at the stiff way she spoke, noticing a bare flush in her cheeks.

_What the-_

He was struck be a bolt of lightening and stiffened, his heart raced and he paled.

"Red, did I…" He swallowed again, "We…the first?"

She flicked her eyes at him once, no other movement in her frame, looking him straight through before looking forward again. It was more than enough.

"Oh my God." Dean covered his face with his hands. "Celia I'm sorry. You're first…"

"Goddamnit, I wasn't the only green one that night." Celia snapped sharply, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Dean paled again, looking at her like a whole new animal. _His_ first.

"I don't feel so good…" He muttered.

Celia bristled, "It wasn't that bad."

Dean jittered, "No?"

"No."

"How bad?"

Celia sighed, "Remember when you got on Chambeau yesterday for the first time, didn't know what the hell ya were doin' until you got a rhythm."

Dean nodded.

"Like that."

Dean felt his stomach churn. He tried to steer away from virgins, like a cardinal rule…a bendable cardinal rule especially if she was coming after him and was legal of course…he tried to avoid it, honestly. It's a bond that didn't break. Ever. And he didn't want to be 'that guy'. 'The First' was a label that some men strove for, but Dean didn't like the burden.

He could only look at the ceiling of the truck cab for a while. A weight on the silence between them.

"Jesus…" Dean let the word out like a binding curse, maybe a contract.

"You said that a lot."

Dean flinched and looked over at her, relaxing at the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. The tease was far more welcome than the silence.

"Shut up." He muttered, not able to help the smile.

"Vocal, real vocal." Celia muttered.

"God…"

"That was there, too."

"Stop it!"

Celia let it go…for a second of silence.

"Reminded me a howlin' dog."

"RED!" Dean covered his face and laughed into his palms. He decided to toy back a little, "I'm a hell of a lot better now." He purred out smoothly.

"Oh, was that an invite?" Celia pushed herself up to look at him a little. A laugh in her smile.

"You bring those magic hands and rub me down later and it's a date." Dean rumbled, his voice tinged with seduction that was almost drowned in his restrained laughter.

"Uh huh. Big man want's payment for services rendered, huh?" Celia snorted.

"This ain't free baby!" Dean barked, laughing almost uncontrollably. Celia waited until the fit had passed and Dean looked up at her with a small smile.

"Whore." She said and slid gracefully out of the truck, shutting the door and leaving Dean in practical hysterics. He dropped out of the truck, trying to recover.

"Finally." Sam snarled, walking around the trailer and truck towards them, still holding tightly to the package, a box wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, it was balanced on a bag of ice cradled in his arms.

"Where's my money?" Dean barked at Celia, she dug into her pocket and extracted a five dollar bill from her wallet.

"Ya boys are expensive to have around." She muttered handing it to the elder Winchester. They ignored Sam's confused face as Celia lifted the box and ice from his grasp.

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Yeah." He muttered, rubbing his wrists and hands together, he blew into his palms to warm his chilled flesh. "What is that anyway? It was heavy."

Celia didn't answer, setting the box aside she pulled her bone hilt knife from her hip and sliced open the ice bag, she tipped a third of the contents into the empty cooler, then set it down, turned to the brown paper package and slice the string and through the paper, in a few seconds she's cracked open the cardboard box beneath and freed first one six pack of dark lager beer, then a second. She easily pulled the glass bottles free from the containers and tossed them into the ice.

"Put more ice in." She waved at Dean who was already in process of doing so, he was grinning at the close quarters with alcohol for the first time in several days. A third six pack of a different breed of beer, some kind of pale colored ale went into the cooler next and Dean poured in the rest of the ice at her command, kicking the top shut.

"You bought three six packs for thirty bucks?" Sam asked, twitching a little at the expense of the alcohol.

"Three six packs, a bottle of whiskey-" She tossed and amber filled glass bottle to Dean, "…bottle of tequila-" This glass container was tossed at Sam, "And a bottle of the Barguest's specialty _Bru-ha_." She held up an ornate glass bottle filled to the brim with a dark, umber colored liquid, no label at all. She swiftly cracked the top off and sniffed, then took a short draw.

Her face contorted with the strength but she seemed to enjoy every second of it.

"Stuffs bad ass." She muttered, holding it out to Sam.

"All that for thirty?" Dena asked, eyeing the _Bru-ha_ with curiosity.

"I know a guy and have a tab." Celia shrugged, still holding the bottle towards Sam.

"You're drinking? You bought alcohol? Don't you have to go into the ring in an hour?" Sam asked, still eyeing the _Bru-ha_ warily.

"Numbs the pain." Celia sighed, motioning towards her left knee and leg. Dean quickly slipped it out of Celia's grasp, he breezed it under his noise lightly, drawing in the sharp bite of the alcohol's scent. He looked at Celia tentatively then swiftly threw back a long draw of the drink before she could stop him. He jerked as if struck across the face, the drink burned and bit all the way down his throat and ignited like a napalm bomb in his gut, he shook his head, coughing.

"Goddamn." He muttered, struck by a violent, even crippling dizziness. He suddenly felt like he'd been set back half a week to the most severe hours of his heat stroke, the gut wrenching cough jerked in his chest and heat flushed his skin, he felt strung out all over again, unaware of his legs he physically collapsed, the bottle of whiskey and _Bru-ha_ falling towards the earth.

"Dean!" Sam barked. Celia was already there; she deftly caught the bottle of _Bru-ha_ in one hand and wrapped her free arm around Dean's waist. The whiskey thumped loudly in the grass, intact.

The elder brother scrambled, trying desperately to regain his feet.

Celia eased him down onto the grass; her face was lit with anger.

"Damn fool Winchester." She growled. "I said it was bad ass, don't ya listen."

"I don't feel good…" Dean muttered, he slumped back down to lie in the grass, he groaned sickly; thanking whatever god there was that the pain was starting to fade and the heat flood out of his shocked systems.

"What the hell is in that?" Sam snarled pointing at the offending bottle in Celia's hand and crouching next to his brother.

"Nothin' ya want to mix with what Dean's got!" Celia snapped back. Dean groaned, coughed a few times and rolled onto his side, towards Celia, until he was almost on his stomach. The elder Winchester buried his face into the ground, breathing in the sweet scent of grass and damp earth.

"Damn fool, sick as hell and drinkin' _Bru-ha_. Dean why don't ya just swallow cyanide? It'd be quicker ya know." Celia eased herself down to sit next to him; she set the offending alcohol aside and rested a light hand on the small of his back, moving in slow soothing circles. Dean shut his eyes, shivering a few times. He'd felt so good a few minuets ago, light hearted, he'd had solid food to eat and he was out in the world on his own two feet. It was like he had made a fatal mistake. He shivered, retching.

"Keep it down, it'll pass." Celia said, putting precise pressure on his spine. Dean felt his nauseous stomach settle and he breathed out in relief at Celia's assurance and slumped into the grass. He felt oddly safe with his brother on one side and the red eyed woman on her other.

"What the hell happened?"

Celia and Sam looked up to meet the eyes of Lynn Sheridan.

"He alright? Do ya need a medic?" She asked, stepping over quickly and yanking her head set down around her next and squatting next to them. Dean groaned sickly, Sam tensing when Lynn lifted one of Dean's eyelids open.

"He'll be fine, little alcohol poisonin'." Celia motioned towards the dark liquid.

"Too much to fast, huh? Thought ya were a big man?" Sheridan sniffed down at Dean; she only got a grunt in return.

"He's just getting' over heat stroke." Celia supplied. Sheridan nodded in understanding, looking at the bottle.

"Shit, is that _Bru-ha_?"

Celia nodded, "He slugged it."

Sheridan looked sympathetic for a few seconds then snatched the bottle from the earth and threw it back hard, practically inhaling the alcohol.

"Goddamn Lynn! I just got that!" Celia barked, yanking it away from the woman and spilling a little alcohol as it went. Celia snatched the lid from the grass and twisted it on, setting it well out of reach.

"I needed that." Sheridan muttered, wiping a hand across her mouth; shook herself once and rolled back her shoulders.

"Glad you enjoyed it." Celia growled. Dean twitched unhappily, breathe coming to ragged for comfort and Celia slid her hand up the back of the coat, under the fleece lined collar to the back of his neck and gently set to rubbing his spine.

"Back to business." Sheridan muttered, slipping her headphones back on. "Got yer list?"

"Uh…yeah, Sammy, grab that paper work out of the truck for me." Celia waved her hand in the general direction of the truck. Sam looked at Dean, making sure his elder brother was alright then setting the tequila aside rose to his feet and headed for the truck. He stepped back with the sheets of paper that Sheridan had given them an hour before, handing them over to Celia and taking her place next to Dean as she stood, took the clipboard and pen from Sheridan and swiftly filled out the schedule, signing it a few times and then handed it back. Sheridan skimmed it as Celia dug into her pocket for her wallet.

"This it? Where are the other events?" Sheridan asked cocking her eyebrow at Celia. The red head sighed with a snort.

"I'm not doing Queen."

"Red please!" Sheridan wailed. "Ya _can't_ let that bastard Shakes take it! I'll never hear the end of it, alive or dead! Please!"

"Ask some other buck to do it for ya, Sheridan. I'm too old." Celia snorted and bent down to pull at Dean's arm, with Sam's help hauling the elder brother up to steadier feet and a few steps over to ease down into the fold up chair.

He slumped down in the fabric and let his head loll forward to his chest, the pain and queasiness subsiding.

"None of these kids are a quarter the rider ya are! And as much as I just spit to say it this kid is good and got good animals, bred champions! All they talk 'bout how that goddamn ass is due in for the Nationals, haven't ya been payin' attention!?! He's been breakin' yer records all year!"

Celia stiffened, making Dean and Sam look at her then each other.

"Good for him." It was bitten out, but she let out a sharp breath, relaxing. "Records are supposed to be broken, not stand forever."

Sheridan looked shocked, like she had just been slapped several times across the face. Even Dean and Sam who were on personal terms with Celia's aggressive and clearly competitive side stared in disbelief.

"Oh my God. OH MY GOD! What the hell is wrong with ya!?!" Sheridan rasped out in absolute disbelief.

Celia snorted and waved her hand at the coordinator, stepping passed her towards the bottles of whiskey, tequila and _Bru-ha_, she scooped them up and tossed them into the cooler with the beer, pulling a bottle of lager free and wrenching the cap off.

"Red!"

"Ya have my list, Sheridan, take off." Celia sniffed and jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the fair grounds.

"Red, Celia, daughter of Nathaniel please." Sheridan looked absolutely pitiful, begging for help. "Yer it, I need ya to ride this and put that goddamn sumbitch in his place like the mangy half breed he is!"

Celia shook her head.

"Coward." Sheridan snarled bitterly. Celia shrugged.

"Red, this guy-" Sheridan glanced over her shoulder, her hair standing on end with the feeling of being closely watched and she clammed up. Sam and Dean twisted around and tensed as well. The slicked back blonde that had been screaming at his assistant earlier that morning was swaggering up the gravel and dirt track towards them, said assistant scurrying along behind. The red silk shirt crisp and creased like the dark colored, designer jeans belted at his waist. A sleek, red dyed Stetson was perched on his head and a pair of red leather and black snake skin boots seemed to repel any earth or water from the ground.

He marched purposefully right up towards them, his eyes roving over the logo emblazoned on the side of Celia's trailer. He marched right into their encampment, setting himself squarely, in the gaping space between where Dean was sitting, Sam standing, Sheridan begging and Celia next to the cooler working on her lager.

The assistant huddled in his shadow, blinking and looking more pitiful and like a struck dog than a human, even more so than that morning.

He flicked his blue eyes around at them; there was an awkward silence that Dean shifted a little in his place in the chair. He did shift when the blonde's eyes soaked in his frame hungrily, like a starved man did his first real meal in years. The unnerving gaze moved to Sam, the same examination befalling the younger brother before going cold and shifting to Celia.

"Are you Red Northwind I've heard so many people whispering and talking about?"

It startled both brothers at the sheer lack of accent or dialect all together. Las Vegas must not have a specific speech design.

"I am." Celia swiftly set the beer down and brushed her hands off on her jeans, stepping forward, tugged the brim of her Stetson down in a tiny salute and held out her right hand. The blonde looked physically sickened; glaring at the offered hand like it was a large, offending slug. The blonde made no attempt to hide his distaste and for that the two brothers bristled but kept themselves still, mostly for a fact that Dean still didn't trust his own legs. The fuzzy burn of the alcohol was still fading but hanging at the edge of his vision.

Celia licked her lips and pulled her hand back, resting it lightly on her hip with as much dignity as possible, lifting her chin.

"There somethin' I can help ya with?" She asked, stay calm and polite. It wasn't the first time she had been snubbed, wouldn't be the last and she knew it wasn't a reason to get riled up.

"I'm William Shakes." The blonde, Shakes, said with some kind of smug pride, as if he was expecting Celia to drop to her knees in praise.

_Don't hold your breath,_ Dean thought to himself. His mouth felt like cotton, he couldn't have added his opinion if he wanted to.

Celia only blinked at him, a quiet and calm look of expectation on her face, waiting for him to go on.

"Of Shakespeare Stables in Las Vegas."

"Y'all breed out that Quarter stud, Montague, right?" Celia asked. Dean could tell from her tone, the casual, almost all too innocent question and instantly knew that Celia probably knew more about Shakespeare Stables than this blonde rider/owner invading their circle.

_Give him hell, Red._ Dean coaxed, shifting to a more comfortable position, a quick glance up to Sam's face said the same.

"Montague de Verona, yes, World Champion Quarter Horse Stud in Halter and soon to be pleasure champion." Shakes puffed.

"Yeah. Big chestnut." Celia said, rubbing her jaw with a hand. "Heard he was quite a handful, bit of bucker blood in him, right?"

Shakes looked stricken, his face turning purple briefly then faded back to normalcy, a sickeningly polite smile on his face.

"A bit of spirit never did a horse any harm; expect you would agree with that band of mustang half bloods over there." Shakes motioned towards the horses in the stalls.

Dean felt Sam stiffen and puff his chest in defense.

"I do agree." Celia said calmly, this seemed to do more harm to Shakes than anything else, he grit his teeth and the assistant in his shadow looked very pale.

"Well." Shakes bit out dangerously, her eyes blazing a little. "I expect you've heard, Miss Northwind, that I'm the rider that has been ripping through your standing records in the circuit. Like tissue paper."

Celia made no reaction, Dean and Sam were fighting back the smiles at the way that Celia's calm and cool demeanor was making Shakes twitch almost violently.

"So when I heard those rumors that a true Nevada 'legend' was taking a break from…what is it, rustling cattle…to join us in the ring, I had to come see the myth in life myself."

His eyes roamed up and down Celia's frame. Taking in her petite size, red eyes and hair, the faded scars that cross hatched her tawny skin, her dusty jeans and dirt smeared white tee shirt and less than clean Stetson hat. His lip curled a little and he sniffed, then his face fell back into sickeningly sweet smile.

"You don't do it justice. They make you seem taller." It was bitten out and snidely said.

Dean felt every instinct and urge to force himself out of the chair and break Shakes' jaw. Sam actually took a step forward but stopped when he felt the elder brother's hand grip his forearm and pull him back. The younger Winchester's hands clenched into fists and he was shivering, square jaw clenched.

All Dean could focus on was that Celia remained calm and casual, no offense showed in her physical frame. But Dean could see Celia's temper was starting to collect, her eye color was darkening.

"All stories gain a little weight along the way." Celia shrugged her tone so calm Dean and Sam instinctively and physically flinched. Somewhere deep and innate in their minds they knew things were getting dangerous.

"And I don't 'rustle' cattle."

Lynn Sheridan was perfectly still, a few other competitors and hands had gathered loosely into a group to watch the confrontation. Sheridan was shifting nervously, but refusing to cut into the fight.

"Yes, well what ever it is you do I can't help but expect from a common ranch hand, not a serious competitor."

There was a shift and angry murmur in the gathered onlookers, whom Dean and Sam instantly took many for the 'common ranch hands' that Shakes had just so calmly insulted. Celia's teeth ground together, just once but loud enough that Dean and Sam could actually hear the enamel rubbing together.

She lifted her hands off of her hips and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, throwing her head back, red eyes darkening still. Her entire stance screamed 'predator', Dean had the distinct feeling that anything, in heaven or hell would have backed away from her, tucking their tails. Dean suddenly wanted her there with him and Sam in the middle of a hunt. He could see her with her teeth clenched and bared, red eyes flared and darkened, rifle stock set into her shoulder or sprinting and hurtling over underbrush and fallen trees in some northern woods putting the fear of God in a Wendigo or skinwalker.

_I want to take you hunting,_ Dean admitted only to himself.

Of course Shakes wasn't nearly at the mental capacity of a skinwalker, not smart enough to turn around and get away from danger.

"Though I was surprised that these two lovely specimens that I saw this morning were here under Wounded Heart interest. I must say that you do have good taste in assistants." Shakes slid a hungry step towards Dean and lightly brushed his hand over Dean's shoulder and grazed it over the shocked elder Winchester's cheek bone. Dean jerked back, reacting instinctively to get away from the unwelcome advance. Shakes smiled warmly at Dean and winked, then casting an appreciative look at Sam and a matching wink.

Dean flicked his eyes towards Celia for help, her saw her chest clench and expand to react, her eyes narrowed dangerously and Dean's heart fluttered with affection for her stepping up for him and his brother.

But Shakes cut in one final remark before Celia could speak.

"Unlike you do with horses."

Celia's blood ran cold, her eyes flashed wide in shock, staring at Shakes as if making sure that she had heard him correctly.

"Feral horses shouldn't be in the same ring with pureblood equines." Shakes sniffed and smiled coldly, grinning and physically leaning towards Dean, who was staring at Celia to hard to pull away from him. Sam bristled so darkly that she stepped back several feet towards Cottoneye Cloud and the other horses.

Dean shivered violently, forcing his weight up to his feet and stepped stiffly over to stand next to Celia. He shook unsteadily on his feet. Shakes looked a startled and more than a little disappointed.

"I'm gonna have to ask ya not to talk 'bout my horses like that. I'll see ya in the ring, Mr. Shakes."

It was very clear that Shakes had been dismissed. Dean's chest puffed out a little and he lifted one arm to drape it lightly across Celia's shoulders. Only then did her feel the small tremors of rage running through her frame, sparks of absolute anger.

Shakes sneered at Celia and therefore Dean, turned on his heel and marched back down the track.

"You will." Shakes snarled, the assistant scurrying after him and once he was out of ear shot was screamed at unceasingly, the young assistant seemed to crouch closer to the ground as he moved.

The crowd broke up, muttering to themselves and Sam crossed over to lean back against Cottoneye Cloud and Honeycatcher's stall, his hand deep in his pockets. Cottoneye Cloud draped his large head over Sam's shoulder, but it was clear the younger brother was seething in rage, unwilling to speak unless his outburst upset Celia further.

Sheridan shifted like and island in the ocean, waiting for someone to speak before she moved on.

Dean squeezed his arm around Celia's neck. He hoped the pressure from his returning strength was enough to comfort her. He got his answer when Celia lifted one of her hands and lightly patted Dean's hand. His fingers caught hers for a brief squeeze before her hand fell back to cross her arms over her chest again. He breathed a little easier as the tremors stopped and Celia was still.

Sheridan raised her eyebrows as Celia.

"That sumbitch needs to be put in place." Celia snarled; her accent and drawl thickening oddly in her anger. Dean liked the change. Sheridan perked and looked at Celia, question in her eyes. Celia waved her on.

"That's my girl!" Sheridan chirped happily already scribbling all over Celia's schedule, marking out the events Celia needed to compete in to accomplish the title of Rodeo Queen.

"Red, you can't do everything." Dean pressed, looking at her with pleading eyes, his eyes flashing down to her knee. Celia's red orbs narrowed dangerously. "I'd love to see that bastard taken down but you're hurt. Please."

Maybe Dean did have puppy eyes because Celia looked at him for a few seconds before she cast her eyes down with a grumble that sounded like defeat.

"I'll ride."

Dean, Celia and Sheridan looked up and around at Sam. The younger Winchester looked like he was on a mission, his face darkened with rage at the way that Celia had been spoken to, the way that Shakes had advanced on him and his brother and finally the way that Shakes had bashed Cottoneye Cloud and the other Wounded Heart horses.

"Sam-"

"I said I'll ride."

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**Read and Review, y'all!**


	22. Tack Up

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! WISH YOU LIVED CLOSER SOI COULD TAKE YOU TO GARTH BROOKS 'CAUSE I GOT GARTH BROOKS TICKETS!!!!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Tack Up**

"**This look doesn't just happen, honey."**

**-Marilyn Monroe**

…

"Sam-" Celia sighed heavily.

"I'm riding." Sam insisted, stepping away from the horses and right up to Celia, towering over her like some good natured giant.

"Has the kid got legs?" Sheridan asked, getting a strange look from both brothers.

"He's got legs on him." Celia snapped back, irritably turning back to Sam, Sheridan cut her off.

"Rock steady?" Sheridan pressed, she yanked back on Sam's arm, pulling him out and walking around him.

"Damn near." Celia snarled, "Isn't there some place ya need to be?"

"He cowy?" She continued to inspect Sam, her eyes roving over him like a colt for auction.

"Not really-"

"Too bad."

"Sheridan, he ain't ridin'."

"Yeah I am." Sam growled back. Celia bristled and Dean swiftly stepped forward, fighting back dizziness to act as a pacifier.

"He challenged _me_, Sammy. Not ya." She spat.

"I'm riding." Sam growled.

"The hell ya are, green horn."

"Look, I don't fuckin' care whose sittin' in the saddle, just make it happen! Put Shakes in the dirt!" Sheridan barked, looking absolutely flustered and stamping her boot, she ripped the modified schedule off of her clipboard, pulled the pink lip off of the back and handed it to Celia. Sheridan turned on her heel and stormed down the dirt and gravel track. "I'm wavin' the entrance fee!"

She was out of ear shot before Celia could protest.

The red eyed and haired woman growled like an animal in pain and buried her face in her hands and shivering violently muttered to herself.

"Red-"

"Shut the hell up a minuet." Celia snapped into her palms, Sam bristled at being disregarded and puffed to lash out. Dean rested a large hand on his younger brother's shoulder, shook his head once in warning and they stayed quiet. Celia continued to mutter, mumbling under her breath and trying to shake the slamming and corruptive stimulation of the last few minuets.

"Too much, too fast." She rasped painfully, her face was contorted in concentration.

"Red, can I talk to you for a minuet?" Dean asked, looking at the truck hopefully, even nodding his head in the general direction. It was a deep feeling, even innate that the truck was where all the serious talks happened. Every serious conversation that went on between them so far had been in the truck. He wondered at the many hours spent in the confines of that cab and Nathaniel' truck before.

_Wait…where had that come from?_ Dean concentrated, burrowing deep into his mind.

_Celia waited until Dean was in the cab before they shut their doors together, sitting back against the seats. Dean's eyes roamed over the interior, soaking in everything. _

"_Kick ass, right?" Celia patted the steering wheel, "She' a Chevy, too."_

"_It's epic." Dean said running his hands over the dash board and grinning at her, his face fell a thought striking him. "What about you're dad's truck? The '41 Ford that Grandpa Joseph had when he was a kid?"_

_She sighed deeply, "She's out with the others, I'm going to try and work on her when I get a chance." He smiled warmly; glad to know that the Ford was safe._

"_I'll help you when ever you need it."_

_She looked at him with question in her eyes, "What 'bout the hunt, Dean?"_

_He shook his head, "M'amin when are you going to figure out that I'll always come when you call?" he reached out and gently ruffled her hair between the blood colored ram's set. _

"_Even when Eli's 'round?"_

_Dean flinched, cringing and rubbing his stomach, "Yeah, even when Eli's around."_

"_Alright," Celia grinned. Dean smiled back. _

"_Alright, hey, I want to drive!" Dean said, trying to shift over in her general direction. _

"_Fuck that! Yer never drivin' this thing!"_

_The world shifted, twisting…_

_Sam dashed up to the old Ford, his lanky height allowing him to vault into the bed, his mop of hair longer than normal in his teenage years. _

"_Sit down, this baby isn't as smooth as she used to be in her prime." Celia ordered as she and Dean moved around the Ford's front end and separated to climb into the driver's and passenger seat. _

_Once the doors were shut Dean's eyes raced to Celia's. Pleading and worried. _

"_He won't shut up about it…" Dean pleaded, he shivered just once. _

"_C'mon!" Sam hollered and pounded once on the roof of the truck. _

"_Don't Sam!" Celia hollered back, bristling. "This truck saw the War, she deserves yer respect!"_

"_Red, I don't know what to do…" Dean whispered. _

"_Dean, if he wants to go to school, college, ya gotta let him." Celia whispered back._

"_I don't want him to be alone."_

"_Dean. Yer his brother, not John, and even he can't control Sammy forever. Ya think I was crazy 'bout it when Eli enlisted?"_

_Dean dropped back against the seat, he sighed nervously. _

_Sam thumped on the roof of the truck._

"_SAM!" Celia hollered warningly, "Don't do that again!" She muttered under her breath for a few seconds the looked around at the elder Winchester._

"_Dean…"_

"_I know…have to let 'em go, right?" He muttered._

"_We'll talk a little more when the brat ain't 'round." She nodded back towards where Sam was still standing in the '41 Ford's bed. _

"_I'll meet you in the truck." Dean agreed._

"_RED! C'mon already!" Sam thumped his hands in a beat on the roof._

"_Sonofa-" Celia put the old truck into gear and gunned it forward. Sam let out a startled yelp, pitching backwards and crashing with a pain filled clang of metal into the bed, he cracked his head against the solid steel of the truck. Sam lay crumpled in the bed, twitching and groaning in pain. Dean chuckled a little._

"_I told him to sit down." Celia said innocently._

_Another nauseating spin…_

_They rushed through the pouring rain, ignoring the barks of Elijah behind them, climbing into the time and road weary Ford truck, dark green pain starting to wear away with age and weather, rust biting around the wheel wells. They scrambled inside, shutting the doors with wet snaps and panicking quietly as they locked the doors and Celia swiftly searched her pockets, she looked up at him in terror. _

"_I forgot the keys inside…"_

_Dean slumped down into the worn fabric of the truck, the cloth soaking up the rain off his clothes. He buried his face into his hands. _

"_How did he find out? He's going to kill me!" _

_Celia dipped her head, eyes shut and tears starting to streak at her face._

_Dean shook himself, swiftly shifting across the seat. He pulled her into his chest and held on as tight as he could letting her huff quietly into his chest. He comforted her the only way he knew how. Dean thread his fingers through her hair, rubbing the under side of her horns, scratching his nails gently over the bone like growth. He knew the feeling calmed her._

_Dean realized that Celia's shivering wasn't going to subside and his own fears bubbled up in his chest, he dipped his head, buried his face into the hair behind her ear and let his own frame shake violently. The thought of a violent death from an angry elder brother over what had happened between Dean and his little sister a few nights ago was suddenly meaningless. Not when Celia was so destroyed._

"No, I don't want to talk to ya anymore." Celia growled ill temperedly. She tugged her hat down lower, hiding her horns and hair almost completely.

"Red, I can ride in your name if that's what your worried about." Sam pressed.

"Sam Winchester are ya impotent?" Celia snapped.

"The hell?" Dean rasped, Sam paled to a sickly milk color.

"NO!" He barked, his pale color swiftly turning bright red.

"How do I know that?"

Sam shifted, still trying to process what she was trying to put across.

"I don't unless ya prove it, right?"

Sam swallowed thickly, Dean was rubbing his large hands roughly over his face.

"That son of a bitch just asked me if I was impotent." Celia snarled, pointing down the dirt track.

A few seconds of tense breath and Sam slumped, nodding slightly in understanding.

"You don't have to prove anything to him or anyone." Dean cut in.

Celia snorted in his face. "Ya don't know shit 'bout rodeo, do ya?"

Dean ground his teeth, licking the back side of the enamel.

"Red, I want to ride, I want to do this." Sam pressed. "Put me on a goddamn horse!"

Cottoneye Cloud pinned his ears and whinnied loudly, tossing his head. There was a thudding of hooves on the hard wood of the stall door, Honeycatcher tossed his head, ears cocked back and danced out of the way. The palomino Quarter Horse tossed his head, nodding and snorting. Celia's attention was turned towards the animal, as if listening to a new part of the conversation. She let Cottoneye Cloud continue to toss his head and snort loudly until he reared up in the stall boxing the air with his fore hooves.

"Hey! Enough!" She snapped, shouting and clapping her hands loudly together.

Cottoneye Cloud dropped back to his hooves; standing still, tossed his head over and over and whinnied loudly, wide chest vibrating.

In the stall next to them Topmoon Goldfinch twisted around, nickering loudly, agitation in her voice and she thudded into the still blanketed secret weapon, making the large dappled stud snort and press into a wall.

"Stop it! Cotton! Yer makin' the babies nervous! Stop!"

Cottoneye Cloud pinned his ears, curled his lips back and blew hard through his nose.

"Alright!"

The palomino settled immediately, his ears throwing forward and snorting gently out of his nose.

"Alright." Celia muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck.

The Winchesters looked between each other, trying to communicate silently, waiting while Celia fretted with whatever decision she had made.

"It's my pride Sam, its sayin' somethin' when ya have to have some green horn ride for ya." She muttered. Sam deflated, then puffed to start arguing again.

"Double up." Dean said.

Celia looked up at him and Sam around in confusion.

"Say again?" Celia asked.

"Double up. Put Sam on a horse and he'll ride your second."

"In every event I do, he does." Celia said.

"It would make me feel better, if you needed help and he was there." Dean pressed, flinching inwardly that he may have crossed a line and ignoring the enquiring look that Sam threw at him. Dean gave Celia a pleading look, begging with his eyes for her to agree.

"God, with the eyes…alright. Done. Pleasure and gated stuff only, he's not going anywhere near the rodeo and cow work events, he's not fit, I do those on my own, got it?"

Dean decided to cut his losses, a little amused that he had been bargaining Celia down from something he had no authority over in the first place. Of course he rather have himself in the saddle next to her beyond everyone else, but he could trust Sam to take care of Celia.

Dean nodded in agreement, it had been like a horse trade.

"Yes!" Sam punched the air then jerked as he found Celia's hand locked around his jaw, yanking his head down, her nails digging like claws into his skin. He whimpered and looked at her in astonishment.

"Ya listen to me Sam, this is dangerous, alright, ya don't know shit 'bout what yer doing so ya do what I tell ya when I tell ya, got it?"

"Yeah…" Sam muffled out thickly. She gave him a sharp shake.

"I'm serious Sam!" She barked in his face, "No green hornin' on me! Ya can get yerself seriously hurt, killed even."

"I umbersamb." Sam mumbled out, his eyes starting to water a little as he felt like Celia's nail were cutting into his flesh.

"I don't think ya really do." She inspected him for a second before letting go of his face. Sam rubbed his sore jaw for a few seconds as Celia stepped around him towards the truck.

"Dean, go find Sheridan, tell her Sam is ridin' double with me on all pleasure and gate events she's got me written on so she can submit his name. Tell her on Cottoneye Cloud, only, I'll let her know if it changes. Give her this and tell her to shut up." She dug out a bill from her wallet, handed it to him, Dean glanced briefly at the hundred dollar bill and nodded. Celia waved a hand at him and Dean took off at a swift trot to catch Lynn Sheridan. Valentine lurched up from his place in front of the truck and galloped to catch the elder Winchester. Dean didn't miss a beat, snatching up the trailing leather leash and jogging with the dog until his wind gave out, far shorter and thinner than normal and force himself to walk and catch his breath.

Sam looked expectantly at Celia, waiting for his next set of instructions.

Celia rummaged around in her tool box, swiftly shutting it as Sam stepped around to look in, but she had what she wanted, a box of ammunition; she stepped around and grabbled the unopened bottle of tequila from the cooler.

"C'mon Sammy, I'll give ya a crash course in necessity and Nevada bartering." She lifted the bottle and box of ammunition and shaking each.

"You have a box of ammunition in your truck?"

"Never know when you need a little extra ammo." Celia muttered and waved him on. Sam jogged to catch up to her and walked, bouncing on the balls of his feet behind her, glad to have gotten his way…for the most part.

She led the way down the line of trailers, trucks and competitors, around the stables and up another line of parked vehicles. She was looking at the trailers and trucks intently trying to find something in particular.

"Sam…why?" She asked suddenly. Sam sighed, biting his lower lip.

"No one talks to my family like that." Sam growled out finally, "Especially some son of a bitch like that Shakes guy."

Celia didn't look at him, sparing him the press to explain what he meant by 'family' and only reached out, briefly brushing her hand over his arm, squeezing once before letting her hand fall and turning to walk along side a smaller, black Dodge truck and a white trailer. There was a small encampment was set up alike to Celia's, chairs and coolers of food in a small ring in front of the truck. A simple logo of a butterfly and the name: _Butterfly Stables; Mountain City, Nevada_ and a Nevada area code phone number on the side of the trailer. A large paint horse pony was tied by a halter and lead was standing with a hind hoof turned back along side the trailer. Sam chanced a glance back and noticed another painted horse in a stall across from them in the same colored halter.

"Benjamin! Ben Junior!" Celia called, he rapped her knuckles on the side of the trailer. The paint horse jumped slightly and snorted a little, Sam reaching out to gently pat the paint's rump assuringly as he walked around her on Celia's heels.

A young man stuck his head around the side of the trailer, looking tired and a little hopeful he broke into a wide smile.

"Far Rider!" He stepped around the trailer and jogged up to Celia, swiftly hugging her tightly and planting a light kiss on her cheek. Sam bristled a little but let it go, a quick look over the young man Sam instantly place him as Native American, tawny copper skin, a shade darker than Celia's and ebony hair tied back into a braid and wound with beads and a single painted eagle feather. He was dressed in a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of dark jeans and black riding boots.

"Hows yer dad?" Celia asked, stepping back and resting a hand on her hip.

"Same, 'bout the same. Keeps looking for the Red Road. I think he's tired." The young man returned, rubbing a hand over his shoulder and looking a little sad.

"Ya know the old ones, always lookin' for Valhalla." Celia assured, patting his arm. "Ben, this is Sam Winchester, Sam this is Benjamin Kimama Junior."

Sam reached out and took the young man's hand with a firm shake. Straightening up Benjamin Kimama was about his height, maybe even a little narrower in the shoulder.

"Hi."

"Nice to meet you Sam." Benjamin said with a smile, then turned back to look at Celia, "Been a while since I've seen you around, Far Rider, taking a break from the cattle?"

"Yeah, for a minuet. I'm a little twitchy 'bout that but they'll be fine, I'm sure."

Sam recognized the tone in her voice and knew she was far from believing that herself. Benjamin nodded, clearly thinking the same thing.

"Plus I need to work on a couple of my babies."

"That I believe." Benjamin smiled, Sam eased up a little at the young man's deep chested laugh. The younger Winchester decided he liked Benjamin.

"Listen Ben, ya heard 'bout that bastard Shakes, right?"

He nodded, rubbing his chin, "Let me guess, Sheridan talked you into running him out of the ring, right?"

She nodded, "I am, but Sam's gonna ride as my double in some of the events but he doesn't have the right kind of hide." He tugged at Sam's tee shirt and flannel. Benjamin nodded.

"Ya got somethin' I can get from ya? Yer the only one sides Eli I could think of that's 'bout his size."

"What cuts?"

"What have ya got?"

Benjamin looked Sam up and down a little, cocking his head to the side then with a sniff motioned them to follow. He stepped around to the compartment door of the trailer and pulled it open. Benjamin stepped up into the small space and pulled open small door off the floor and filed through it.

"I might have more of a gut than you. I hope they fit." Benjamin pulled out a pair of dark washed, and neatly folded jeans.

"What color are you thinking, Far Rider?"

"Um…"Celia looked at Sam and closed her eyes and thinking hard. "…Cotton's palomino…blue or…god maybe black…"

"I got a blue. Brand new." He pulled out a crisp blue shirt, white buttons and still wrapped in plastic. "Anything else?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Eli's gear is packed with mine." She reached out and took the short and folded jeans from Benjamin and passed them to Sam. "Go put 'em on, Sammy."

He held onto the clothes and looked around, expecting something to jump out at him, when nothing did he looked at Celia for help.

"Jesus, in the trailer." She motioned and gently nudged Sam towards the trailer. "And take off yer boots."

Sam stepped into the shadow of the stock trailer, he hoped out of sight of prying eyes and listened to Benjamin and Celia talk quietly while he stripped down to his boxers, kicking off his boots and shimmied into the dark jeans, buttoning them and pulling up the zipper. He and Benjamin had about the same waist, a little looser than Sam had expected, but far snugger than the jeans he was normally used to. He tugged them into place and then cautiously ripped the plastic on the shirt, stripping own to his bare chest and fitting it into place, buttoning it down most of the way, it fit perfectly.

"Sammy, ya decent! C'mon, move yer ass!" Celia rapped on the side of the trailer and Sam jogged out of the trailer shadow, stopping to stand on the ramp in his socks. Celia stepped up next to him.

"Nice, very nice." She said and shifting the bottle of tequila to her other hand with the ammo ran a hand a appreciatively down Sam's sides and hips, tugging the jean slightly in the way that Sam always expected mothers to do when shopping with their children and forcing Sam to take a side step towards her. Her hands roamed lower, running over his legs.

"Good fit."

"We got lucky on it, I figure." Benjamin said rubbing his chin.

"How many washes on the jeans?"

"Two or three, at most."

"Alright…" Celia tugged at the sleeves once, making sure they traveled correctly all the way down to Sam's wrists. They were, unusually, a little long. "I give ya the ammo for the loan of both." She said shaking the box.

Benjamin scoffed. "And get 'em back mucked and stretched out of my shape. For the ammo and the alcohol I'll give ya both to keep. Ya have to admit that he looks cleaned up in 'em."

Sam felt again like he was an animal for auction, he wondered if this was how outsiders were always treated among the locals of Nevada.

"Ya want the ammo and the Cuervo yer gonna have to better than a pair of used jeans and a fresh shirt. Ya throw something else in."

"Like what?"

"Sam here's got a big brother, ya got another shirt 'bout the same a little wider in the shoulder and I'll consider tradin' the three for the tequila." Celia shrugged.

"Not the ammo?"

"Hell naw. Ya want the ammo too ya put in a pair of jeans for the brother, too."

"What the hell have ya been drinkin'?" Benjamin snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ben, this is standard elk .22 rifle ammunition, high performance, only the best, I'll tell ya, I don't own anythin' less." Celia shook the box again, "Think 'bout ya being one up as soon as season hits, having enough ammo to last the full season, or ya can have it for trade but I dare ya to get anythin' better than this, bass as stuff."

Benjamin's jaw rolled a little, sniffing. "That Winchester?"

She nodded, "The best of the best, I know ya got a rifle like this."

"That is good ammo, but it ain't worth two shirts and two jeans." Benjamin said reluctantly, rubbing his hand over his hair.

"What do ya propose, then?"

"The tequila and ammo for what he's wearing."

"Alright, leave it Sam, lets go."

She started back down the ramp and Sam hesitantly reached to start unbuttoning the shirt.

"Where the hell are you going to get stuff to fit him?" Benjamin snorted.

"I'll find someone."

"Wait, wait."

Celia smiled, "Fire sale and everythin' must go…How bout this. The bottle and the ammo for the two shirts and the two jeans so long as the other shirt and jeans are a few washes, no more than five."

Benjamin muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw then turned and walked back towards the storage. He was out of sight for a few minuets and Sam looked at Celia, she waved a hand assuringly at him and nodded.

"Wider in the shoulder?" Benjamin asked walking back towards them with a dark pair of jeans over his shoulder and shaking out two different shirt out, one red and the other black.

"And the hips." Celia mentioned.

"Hmm…" Benjamin juggled the two shirts for a second then tossed the red one at her and draping the black over his other shoulder threw the dark jeans along with.

Celia swiftly inspected them, turning the fabric over and over in her hands.

"Four washes on the shirt and three on the jeans."

"Ya not gonna miss 'em?"

"No. The four for the ammo and the alcohol?"

Celia continued to turn the fabric over and over in her hands, she put them to her nose, sniffing once.

"Throw in a couple of chokers and ya got it."

Benjamin snorted a little, "_Two_ chokers?"

"Best tequila and ammo out there, both from the Barquest."

Benjamin growled. "Done." He held out his hand.

"Done." Celia swiftly shook his hand and passed over the tequila and the ammunition and waited while he went to fetch a pair of Texas chokers.

"Alright Sammy, strip outta that, the first even isn't for an hour."

Sam was already stepping back into the shadow of the trailer and changing back into his normal clothes, happy to tie his boots back into place and handed the shirt and jeans back to Celia. Benjamin passed over the chokers and gave her one crushing hug before wishing them both luck in the ring and Celia led the way back towards her Silverado and horses.

…

It had taken a half an hour for Dean to track down Sheridan in the swelling crowd and avoid going anywhere near Shakes and his mousy assistant. He was tired and starting to sweat a little as the Nevada heat started to creep in as the day lengthened.

But when Dean tried to strip off the coat he was struck but a sharp chill and pulled back into the comfort created by his own body warmth. Valentine trotted casually at his side, giving a little hop every now and then. He was fighting back a swiftly growing migraine and trudged tiredly up the dirt pack slope and screaming at himself that he should be the one doubling up with Celia, not Sam. He neared their little camp and looked up, a flush of jealous anger flushing him in a heart beat.

Sam was sitting on top of a cooler, Celia standing behind the younger Winchester and brushing his hair, a black toothed comb and her hands running through the long brown hair and gently scrubbing Sam's skull. And he seemed to be enjoying it for every second that it was worth. His eyes closed and head titled back to expose his throat to the world. Sam's chest was expanding and contracting in slow, relaxed breathes.

Dean felt every urge to rush up and yank Celia away from Sam, but he was frozen in place, emotion boiling in his chest until it turned his stomach to a point he was ready to vomit.

He relaxed when Celia set the comb aside and started to weave Sam's hair back, braiding it tightly to the shape of Sam's skull in a French braid.

Dean smiled, chuckling to himself that Celia was adding to making Sam seem more like a girl than the over emotional young man he was anyway.

The jealous rage imploding and slumping down and Dean smiled, walking up towards them. He dropped Valentine's leash and the large white Shepherd trotted over to casually plop down next to Buckshot and Alamo.

Celia glanced up at Dean; her teeth clenched around two thin rubber bands.

"His hair's to long." She muttered. "All in his face."

Sam winced in pain as she pulled a few strands a little too tight, weaving them into place and gathering more hair away from his around his ears and nape of his neck.

"This feels weird." Sam muttered.

"What's the matter, princess, no one offer to braid your hair at those slumber parties?" Dean snorted, satisfied with having the energy to start teasing Sam again.

"Shut up." Sam muttered and flinched again.

"Sorry, Sammy." Celia gently scratched her nails soothingly over the flesh of Sam's neck. Sending a spitfire of sensation down Sam's spine, calming him and shutting down the pain he felt briefly. Sam instantly relaxed, slumping lower into his place on the cooler.

"How do you know how to do that?" Sam mumbled tiredly.

"Do what?" Celia asked, tightening the French braid against Sam's skull.

"The messages and pressure points and stuff…" Sam flinched, deciding he seriously didn't like having his hair pulled and silently apologized to several young girls that had sat in front of him in the countless elementary schools he'd attended.

"Well, I had a couple anatomy and psychology classes before I quit school." Celia muttered. "All I really held onto of it must have been the muscle and pressure points and how it connects to the brain, hormones and shit like that…"

"Thank god for those professors." Sam muttered then yelped when a couple of strands were pulled sharply at the sensitive skin around the nape of his neck.

"Sorry Sammy." Celia grazed the same pressure points in his spine to negate the pain.

"Here, Sam's list." Dean held out the pink slip of paper with the name _Sam Wilson_ and a list of events and times.

"Thanks Dean." Celia nodded for him to set it down with her own paper work. "We got some dress stuff for ya Dean."

"What for?" Dean asked, sinking down into a chair and relaxing tiredly.

"Cause it was a good deal and yer gonna need 'em for halter and barn party tonight." Celia muttered around the two bands clenched in her teeth.

Sam opened one eye to look at Dean, both brothers look confused.

"What?"

"I put ya in for the halter show that I wanted to do originally, I can't now and the stud needs the experience." She looked a little worried, "I should have asked ya if ya were up to it first, huh?"

"I can do it." Dean assured instantly. Celia smiled thankfully.

"All ya have to so it trot him around and hold his head up when the judge looks at him. He'll set himself up."

"Who, Honeycatcher?"

"No."

"I riding Cottoneye Cloud so that secret weapon then." Sam threw a look at the blanketed horse standing next to the appaloosa buckskin filly.

The stud cocked his ears forward as if knowing they were talking about him.

"What his story, Red?" Sam asked.

She didn't speak, continuing to put Sam's hair into the braid, she tied it off with the two bands fixing it into place and passing her hand swiftly and gently over his hair.

"Red?" Sam asked, twisting around to look at her. She turned her back on them and walked towards her truck.

"Celia?" Dean called, getting a look from Sam, it took a second for him to realize that he hadn't called her 'Red'.

Celia pulled open the passenger door and leaned out of sight. A few seconds seemed to last forever for the two brothers before she stepped back away from the truck, shutting the door and holding tightly to the worn leather binding of a book. Dean and Sam both instantly went on the offensive, almost drowned out by their curiosity and wariness. Celia had admitted to a few hunts, she hadn't mentioned anything specific but they knew by sight what that book was.

"What's that?" Sam asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Yer daddy had a journal, so did mine." She was leafing carefully through the pages. Like John's journal each page filled with writing, hand scribbled drawings, clippings from books and newspapers and other things that Sam and Dean couldn't see clearly.

From what they could see Nathaniel's journal was more complete than any there had ever seen before.

"That' Nathaniel's journal?" Dean asked pushing himself up.

"Yep." She leafed through the pages. "He kept scraps of the most important things he had in here." She pulled out a square photograph, black and white, still glossy from shelter within the book.

"This is him." She handed it to Sam. The younger Winchester carefully took the photo and turned it in his hands, Dean leaning over his shoulder to look.

"That's my daddy and his best stud: Forty Five Caliber."

Dean and Sam studied the photograph. The photographs of Nathaniel they had seen in the house must have been taken later in the man's life. Here Nathaniel was still a young man, barely out of his twenties, smiling, handsome in jeans and tee shirt, dark hair cropped short and perched on the back of a handsome stud in western tack. Even Dean and Sam had to admit that the horse could only be matched in myth; they could only imagine how impressive the animal was in real life.

A sleek build, black pointed head and legs the faded and dappled into a meshed coat of grays and blacks. Black mane and tail kicked up in a momentary breeze. The final touch on Forty Five Caliber's presence was the blanket of broken white spots across the rump, running up the flanks to the shoulder in an arrangement that was almost artistic, as if painted into place.

"Wow." Sam muttered at the regal looking animal.

"That was taken after he got back from Vietnam." Celia had tucked the leather bound journal under her arm. "First thing he did after kissin' my momma was run out to that stud and ride as hard as he could. Until ya couldn't see him anymore. Rosa was worried we wound never get off."

Celia said it with a small, sad smile.

"What was he?" Sam asked, still looking at the photo.

"Blue roan appaloosa, quarter type. Big, too, little taller than Cotton. Champion, the only way to describe that horse and after Eli and Rosa and me, Nathaniel put nothing above him. Loved that horse." Celia sighed. "The whole family has been building the Caliber line of appaloosas since then. Strawbury, that little red roan colt, he's the only appaloosa we have that don't have Caliber blood in him."

"So…the secret weapon?" Sam looked over at the blue stud. Celia smiled, set the journal down in one of the fold up chairs and stepped over; she swiftly caught the stud's halter and pulled him out of the animal out the stall and towards them.

"Boys, meet the latest generation." In a swift move Celia unbuckled the blue blanket and yanked it free in a flurry that befit any great unveiling. The blue fabric swirled before dropping to the earth and the stud danced sideways at the movement before settling and setting himself up into a perfect show stance. Legs straight and set evenly, one hind leg swung forward and the other back, neck arched up, ears cocked forward and bright, dark eyes calm. The black legs and head faded into the same grays and blacks that in life marked into the blue roan. Stark white spots danced over his rump and flanks a few stray spots on his shoulder but not as high as Forty Five Caliber's had been. Except for the blanket pattern on his hide the stud could have been Forty Five Caliber himself. The regal and proud presence fulfilling what Dean and Sam had expected it to feel like.

He was the kind of animal that stood out, like a beacon of blue light, several people around them stopped and looked at him in appreciation before moving on talking quietly to themselves or the person with them.

The horse breathed out of his nose quietly.

"Boys, this is Ceasefire. He took me to Nationals those four years ago as two year old." Celia reached around and rubbed a hand down Ceasefire's neck.

"Wow." Sam breathed.

"I know that horse." Dean said quietly.

Sam and Celia looked around at him, the younger Winchester with confusion and interest. Celia's eyes swimming with first concern then pure hope.

"I was there. When he dropped. We had to hold him up because he wasn't breathing right…"

"Yeah, we did." Celia pressed, hoping for more.

Dean slumped a little.

"That's all…sorry…" Dean sighed and Celia deflated and chewed her bottom lip before making a general motion towards the fallen blanket. Dean stepped up, lifting and shaking out the blanket before throwing it over Ceasefire's back and buckling it into place.

"Thanks Dean." She said, turning the stud back and loose into the stall with Topmoon Goldfinch. She latched it into place. "Guys, go clean up, wash yer faces and get back her, asap. We're runnin' late."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, raising eyebrows.

"Go wash yer faces, damn, c'mon now." She walked over to Dean and forcibly pulled her coat from his frame.

"Hey!"

"Just go! Get!" She ordered and started towards her truck, snatching up Nathaniel's journal.

"Alright, mom." Sam grumbled. With disgruntled growls the two brothers started down the dirt track and towards the pump that Celia had used earlier to fill the buckets with water. They were shivering by the time that they're faces, hands and fore arms were scrubbed clean of any collected dust. Dean chanced to rub a little through his hair.

The trudged back up towards their camp. Dean stopped dead in his tracks when Celia stepped around the truck, tucking a sleek black Stetson into place on her skull. His heart hitched and thumped oddly once before he forced himself back into step next to Sam.

Celia's red hair was been pulled back into a long pony tail at the base of her skull, a slim, fitting black button down shirt with three quarter sleeves, the shirt was tucked in slim at her waist into a pair of sleek, dark blue jeans the fabric hugging her hips and thighs suggestively, flaring slightly below the knees around black leather cowboy boots. Dean noticed the limp in her step and the sway in her hips more than he ever had before. Her left wrist was encircled by a string of rounded silver charms than when he got closer Dean was startled to see they were molded into the shape of small skulls, a look at her throat there was a necklace of the same silver skulls.

"Damn, Red." Sam muttered appreciatively, even giving a small, teasing wolf whistle.

"Shut up and get dressed. Here-" She stepped over to the two tubs she had extracted from the truck bed while they had scrubbed their faces. She slid off the dislodged lid and pulled out two pairs of cowboy boots. One black, the other a light, doeskin color. She flipped them over to look at the sizes before handing the black to Dean and the browns to Sam.

"Here. Get."

Sam gathered the boots and pulled the blue shirt and dark jeans from the small pile they had left on one of the folding chairs and trotted back towards the trailer. Dean looked suspiciously down at the rest of the small pile. The red shirt and jeans.

"Dean, I don't mean to be bossy, but now please." Celia urged and was rummaging through the second tub of supplies, pulling out two beaver Stetson hats, one doeskin and a black one.

Dean grumbled a little, sliding his flannel shirt off of his frame and pulling the tee shirt up over his head, naked from the waist up, he stretched, reaching high over his head towards the sun. Celia glanced up at him, blushing slightly and dropping her eyes back to her work.

Dean slid his arms through the red sleeves, it was a little tight across the shoulders and buttoned it down into place, her made to roll up the sleeves.

"No, Dean." Celia dropped the bundle of fur back into the tub and stepped over, pulling one of his hands towards her, smoothed down the sleeve and buttoned the cuff snuggly around his wrist. Then moved to the other arm.

"So, what's the barn party?" Dean asked, clearing his throat.

"Most of the people here are on the Elko county rodeo circuit and we have a habit of throwing ourselves a little party at the end of the shows before we all pack up to head home, relax a little. I asked around and they plan on doing it tonight too, out in the field over there." Celia nodded her head in the general direction of the far stretch of grass, the only place on the grounds of the horse park that was completely unoccupied.

She released his wrist and turned back to the contents of the tub. Dean grabbed the jeans and moved towards the truck, pulling open the passenger door and leaving it open. He kicked off his biker boots and swiftly slid out of his loose fitting, even oversized jeans and forced his way into the dark colored ones. He eased himself down onto the step bar and yanked them into place, choking back a muttered gasp as they were a little too tight. He stuffed the red shirt down into the waist band before dropping back to sit on the seat, muttering as the jeans dug into his stomach.

"Decent?" Celia called a little.

"Yeah." Dean called back. She stepped around the door and handed him the pair of boots, he tugged them on, tighter than his normal boots.

"Everything feels tight." Dean sighed.

"Well, if ya didn't wear a tent most of the time." Celia muttered and handed him the Texan choker, Dean struggled to fit it into place until Celia reached forward and fixed it, tightening it and pulling his collar down around it. She unfolded a set of black leather bracers and fitted them into place over Dean's wrists and forearms, tightening the leather ties. Dean shifted, twisting his wrists around a few times to get used to the constricting feel of the leather arm cuffs over the lower half of his forearms. Celia looked him up and down once, then reached forward to mess with his shirt.

"You like fussing like this don't you?" Dean accused.

"Ya like being fussed over and ya know it." Celia sniffed, teasing back a little.

Dean sighed, thinking a little then shrugged. "Yeah, I don't mind." He smiled at her and slid down from the truck and shut the door. Sam walked up towards them, adjusting the blue sleeves and smiling in thanks when Celia took over. She fitted the choker into place around his neck and fitted a set of doeskin bracers onto his arms. She stepped back and looked at them.

"Goddamn ya boys clean up nice." She said, smiling even. "C'mon, a few more things and we tack up, we've got fifteen minuets before show one, Sam." Celia urged them forward and around the truck towards her supplies. He handed them each a Stetson, keeping in trend with Dean's black and Sam's doeskin coloring.

She reached into one tub and pulled free a square of folded, doeskin suede leather, she shook them out into a pair of smooth, fringed chaps. "C'mere Sammy."

He stepped over and stood patiently while she fitted the chaps into place around his hips and down his legs.

"Fellas, most of this stuff is my brother's so please don't destroy any of it. He'll slaughter me." She pulled out pair of slimmer black leather chaps and fitted them onto her own frame.

"Sure." Sam assured and Dean nodded.

She smiled, looking them over. "Damn."

"What?" Dean asked. Celia only shook her head.

"Few more things." She reached into the equipment tubs and extracted three leather belts and passed them around. The three of them buckling the leather into place, Celia pulled out three large silver belt buckles, she clipped one into place at her own waist. Inlayed with a few curls of gold it depicted a bucking horse, head thrown down and back arched in and upward jump. She turned to them lifting one in Dean's face.

"Eli's halter championship with one of Caliber's daughters." The silver was bordered with ornate black silver designs around the edge and a Quarter Horse's head and a show halter. She tugged Dean forward by the belt and clipped it into place. She turned to Sam, holding up the third belt buckle.

"My buckle for first place in Four Gated Pleasure with Cottoneye Cloud himself." The buckle was designed with gold curls and a rider and horse in mid stride of western pleasure ride. The horses' head out and down and the rider looking down towards the horse's shoulders. Celia tugged at Sam's belt, clipped the buckle into place.

"_Do not_ lose those." She pressed pointing at them, "Friendship enders, got it."

"Yes ma'am." Dean made a mock salute and faltered at Celia's serious and blank look.

"I'm not joking." She said.

"I know, sorry." Dean said quickly.

"Un huh." Celia said and she reached into the bundle of fur in the tub with hats and now that they could see, belt buckles and extracted three clumps of fur.

"They are fox tails." Sam said.

"Wounded Heart tradition, always ride with a fox's tail." She handed a blonde and pale gray streaked tail to Sam, a sleek black one to Dean and clipped a classic red furred one to a belt loop of her jeans. The Winchesters followed suit.

"Why?" Dean asked, petting the black fur.

"Tell you when we have time." Celia swiftly clapped the lids on the gear boxes and practically hurled them into the truck bed. "Tack up, we've got ten minuets!" Celia barked and climbed up into the bed, ripping open the tub of tack and handed two sets of breast collars, bridles and reins to Dean, swiftly piling two blankets onto his shoulders.

There was a tone over the speakers mounted around the stable and fair grounds, making the brothers look up as Lynn Sheridan's voice rumbled over the grounds.

"_First call for the Western Pleasure Three Gaits; Quarter Horse Type. First call for the Western Pleasure Three Gaits; Quarter Horse Type."_

"Sam! Lets go!" She motioned him over from where he had pulled Cottoneye Cloud from the stall and tying him to the hitch ring there. Sam rushed over, the chaps around his legs swaying with his long legged strides. He struggled a little in accepting the weight of the light colored leather saddle and jogged back towards Cottoneye Cloud. Dean had already thrown the blue blanket over the palomino's back and stepped dutifully to wait for Sam to call for the other pieces of equipment.

Celia almost killed herself struggling out of the truck bed with the saddle of red brown leather and raced over to the stalls. She reached in and tried to gently wrench Topmoon Goldfinch from her stall and clipped her halter to the lead already tied to the hitching ring.

"Dean!" She called, he was already jogging towards her and threw the blanket over the nervous filly's back. She kicked out and pinned her ears, making Dean jerk back out of the way.

"Easy Dean, she's a baby." Celia soothed both the horse and the elder Winchester. He nodded, handing Sam the breast collar to match the fawn colored saddle and then the bridle and reins. Sam had really retained how to tack up a horse, he was going through the motions like an old pro.

By the time Dean had turned back to help Celia she already had the red leather saddle fitted into place and cinched up. She took and buckled the breast collar into place and loosing the halter from the filly's head slipped the bridle and bit into place in a blur.

"_Second call for Western Pleasure Three Gaits; Quarter Horse Type. Second call for Western Pleasure Three Gaits; Quarter Horse Type."_

Sam slipped the halter off from around Cottoneye Cloud's neck and tugged the reins once, making the palomino Quarter Horse back up a few steps. Sam slipped his doeskin boot into place in the stirrup and with a single bounce mounted and settled into the saddle, reaching down to fit his other boot into the far side stirrup.

Celia swiftly finished her tack up and swung into the saddle, Topmoon Goldfinch dancing in pace, nervously trying to keep her hooves on the earth. Dean kept his mouth shut at the flinch of pain in Celia's face as her left knee twisted with the movement.

"Boys!"

The two Shepherds and the merle collie perked their ears and strained their muscles to rise.

"Boys stay! Stay!" Celia ordered and the three dogs woofed in agreement, settling back into their places in the grass.

"Let's go Sam." She said, turning the nervous mare around and whistling. Cottoneye Cloud and Topmoon Goldfinch broke into quick trots down the track. Dean unsure what else to do broke into a jog to keep up; Celia twisted around and held out a hand towards him.

"Dean."

He picked up his step, grabbed a hold of the offered hand and surprised himself when with barely a tug from Celia he was straddling the buckskin appaloosa's rump. He wrapped his arms loosely around Celia's waist as they trotted down the track, either a head of or behind other competitors and their hands on the way to the same event.

"What are the three gaits?" Sam asked, a spike of nervousness in his voice.

"Walk, trot and lope. The judge calls it over the speaker and you just do what he says. Then they call for line up turn Cotton to face the crowd and line up next to me, I'll be right behind you the whole way, alright?"

Sam nodded, taking a deep shaky breathe and trying to relax.

"Show me a walk, Sam." Celia pressed.

Sam sat back in the saddle and pulled gently on the reins, Cottoneye Cloud checked his pace, slowing to a smooth pleasure horse walk. Celia dropped Topmoon Goldfinch down to keep pace with the palomino.

"Trot."

Sam squeezed his knees and ankles, clicked his tongue on the off his mouth. Cottoneye Cloud picked up into a pleasure horse trot. Celia matching the pace.

"Lope."

"What's lope?" Sam asked, glancing at her and reaching up to touch the Stetson on his head.

"That rolling-hop pace. Once step up from a trot. English call it 'canter'."

"Alright." Sam clicked his tongue and squeezed his knees and ankles into the palomino's sides. Cottoneye Cloud broke into a rolling lope. Celia matching again and Dean tightened his grip around her waist to stay in place. They settled back into a trot as the third call for the class came over the speakers.

"Good Sam, ya'll be fine." Celia assured. He nodded curtly but Dean could tell that his younger brother was nervous, Dean caught his eye and nodded assuringly. Sam smiled back, still looking nervous but keeping his calm.

They trotted around people, horses and mounted competitors.

"Red!"

They twisted as Sheridan rushed to jog up next to them and held out two sheets of laminated paper with large printed numbers on them, one was 02 the other 15.

"Here's yer numbers!"

"Thanks Lynn." Celia bent and took the sheets.

"Kick his ass girl."

"Dean pin this for me." Celia handed him the 15 and Dean swiftly pinned the number to the back of Celia's shirt and Celia steered Topmoon Goldfinch over until she was practically pressed into Cottoneye Cloud's side, her ears pinned. Dean reached over and pinned the 02 to Sam's back.

"Thanks Dean."

They rushed up a slight slope to a gathering of mounted riders at the pipe gate entrance to an outdoor arena ring of white plank fencing. The earth on the outer space of the ring was churned up into a thick layer of soft brown earth around an inner spans of grass and a white and brown gazebo packed with a small group of people, some gray haired others in their prime of life. A march like tune of organ music was playing over the speakers. And the metal audience stands were already packed with a slowly swelling crowd of spectators and their dogs and kids.

Looking on Dean saw that there was a second ring much like this one, a large rectangular paddock of churned earth where a number of riders were warming up their animals and beyond that was a huge arena that was, from his glance at the schedule listing, would be set up and used later in the afternoon for the rodeo events. Most of the pleasure and English classes were written to happen before noon in the little rings and the big events: roping, reining, barrel racing and others after one o'clock and well into the night. Dean stretched to get a look at a grass pen of roping and rodeo cattle, chewing at hay left out for them.

Two men in white Stetsons pushed open the gate and the competitors started into the ring. Celia gripped Dean's hand and pulled, signaling it was time for him to leave them. On impulse Dean leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Be careful. Please."

He slid down to the earth, struggled for a second to break himself out of a stumble.

"Good luck Sam."

"Thanks Dean." Sam called back, as Cottoneye Cloud stepped into the ring behind a large gray horse the palomino broke into the perfect form of a western pleasure champion, head flung out and down, ears perked forward and the swaying walk. Sam straightened and looked dead forward, a excellent profile of a real competitor.

"Celia." She twisted and looked back at him, her red eyes locking with his for a second before she turned back to the ring and settled into the same swayed walk and rider seat that Sam was trying to imitate. Dean stepped backwards to get out of the way, nervousness bubbling in his chest as he turned, thinking to find a seat to watch he couldn't help himself and walked right up to the white fencing, crossed his arms over the top rail and leaned against it, his eyes locked on Celia and Sam as they made their way around the ring towards him.

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**Thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed, read and review please! Much Love y'all!**


	23. Show Stopper

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! **

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Chapter Twenty Three: Show Stopper**

"**Life has no rehearsals, only performances…"**

**-Unknown**

…

Dean knew squat about Western Pleasure. If it weren't for the fact that Celia and Sam where in that ring and the way that Shakes' face was twisted in disgust every time a judge looked away, Dean would have found it one of the most boring things he'd ever watched. Competitors and horses kicked up their hooves to trots, lopes and walks around the ring at the command of a faceless voice over the loud speaker; their faces blank or broken into plastered, showy smiles, and to the old march tunes of an organ. It was mind numbing if you weren't into that sort of thing.

But every time a judge glanced at Sam and Celia, which was becoming more and frequent as they proceeded around the ring, the way that Sam's face was the only genuine smile out there, even breaking with the stiff posture to pat Cottoneye Cloud's shoulder, the way that the judges smiled at them, it made Dean's heart thump excitedly. He was twitching and clapped as loud as he could with long whistles when they called out Celia's, Sam's, Cottoneye Cloud's, and Topmoon Goldfinch's names over the speaker. His chest puffing with pride when he wasn't the only cheer for them. His blood was racing, his skin itched and he couldn't do anything about it.

He smiled encouragingly at Sam every time he rode passed and hopefully at Celia a stride behind. Sam smiled back, looking practically euphoric, but Celia's face remained practically blank, a mask and Dean was unsure if she saw him or looked right through him and why she wasn't bothering with a fake smile. Dean prayed she wasn't the emotionless mask she turned on to avoid the pain in her left knee, while he was convinced that it was. Dean could only wring his hands and chew on his lower lip nervously. He only bothered to look at one other rider than his brother and Celia.

Shakes was the picture perfect of competition when someone's eyes were on him, sitting proudly on a massive, sleek blood bay mare that the judge had called out as Lady Capulet.

_Guy sure likes a theme_…Dean thought to himself glaring coldly at Shakes when he trotted by.

It seemed like an eternity of the movements around the ring and once or twice a reversal so that he saw Celia before Sam, but it was only eight minuets when the judge made a motion for them to line up. Dean moved down the fence so he stood directly in front of Celia and Sam. He wasn't the only one looking at them. If looks could kill, Shakes would have slaughtered his brother and the red eyed rancher where they stood.

The judge stood in front of each rider and motioned for them to back up. Small tugs of the reins and each horse took two or three steps back. Celia and Sam both moved back perfectly, neat little steps until they stepped back up into place.

"C'mon. You fucking loved them." Dean said under his breath as the judge walked up and down the line of thirteen riders. The gray peppered haired man scribbled a few notes onto his slip of paper walked between Shakes and a young girl on a dapple gray Quarter Horse. He said something to the willowy blonde man on the loudspeaker and then stepped back between the horses and riders.

'_We have our placing; Judge Murdock will point to you in order and please proceed out of the ring. Thank you ladies and gentlemen for competing today. First place-"_

The judge pointed at Celia.

Dean and Sam let out simultaneous 'Yes!'s. The part of the crowd that heard over the cheering and applause laughed.

"_Celia Northwind and Topmoon Goldfinch! Second-"_

The judge pointed to Shakes.

"_William Shakes and Lady Capulet! Third-"_

The judge pointed to Sam.

"_Sam Wilson and Cottoneye Cloud! Fourth-"_

"Way to go Sammy!" Dean hollered, not bothering to hear who else was in the top five. Celia clapped Sam on his shoulder, leaning over and whispering something to him as she turned the buckskin appaloosa filly around towards the gazebo and Sam headed out of the ring, stopping to collect a white envelope and a yellow silk ribbon from a smiling judge.

Shakes practically tore the red ribbon and envelope out of the judges' hands, the judge frowned a little at the reaction and threw a look at the others near the gazebo, there were a few shaken heads.

Dean looked between his brother and Celia as she steered around to set up Topmoonn Goldfinch for a photograph. He didn't know what to do with himself until Celia caught his eye and motioned him towards her.

Dean vaulted over the fence and quickly getting over his vertigo and trotted over towards her, skirting to avoid spooking the filly.

"Are you the hand?" A woman in a suit asked stepping up towards him. Dean nodded and found a white envelope, a silver belt buckle and a porcelain plate painted with a bay Western Pleasure horse and rider, he was told to stand at Topmoon Goldfinch's shoulder. Judge Murdock was pinning the blue ribbon into place on the red leather bridle. Dean stood next to Celia's right knee, on instruction holding up the plate and buckle for the photo. He smiled, looking over the photographer's shoulder at Sam waiting with a grin at the end of the ring. The flash blinded him for a second and he resisted the urge to reach up and rub his face, he forced his eyes open in time for the second flash leaving dark spots in his vision.

But he was unaware of anything else than the sudden feeling of Celia's fingers brushing lightly over his neck, along his spine. He shivered, not getting a chance to turn to speak before Celia and Topmoon Goldfinch were taking a victory lope around the ring and Dean was trotting towards Sam. The elder Winchester was startled to see a young woman, brunette ringlets of hair against mocha skin, speaking quietly to Sam from the back of a large dapple grey horse, the animal's mane was pale blonde and streaked with gray, the dapple color of the hide darkened as it flowed to is nose and down below the knee until they were black, ending in blonde and black stripped hooves. The gray was about the same size of Cottoneye Cloud and tacked in the light weight leather of an English saddle. The breast collar, martingale in the English riding world, was linked up to a smooth and complicated looking bridle and simple silver ring bit, so different from the ornate tom thumb bits that extended out below the horses' jaw that where used in the Western world.

It was a strange contrast, looking at Sam dressed up, as cowboy as he could be on the big quarter horse, next to the smaller woman with a top hat perched on her hair, a suit coat, riding breeches of tawny color and riding boots that threatened to invade her knees. The leather crop she held was laid lightly across the gray's should and she sat, held the reins and herself all differently from the western breed of riding. It seemed far from natural, but the brunette made it look comfortable.

She said something, her heart shaped face broken into a mischievous grin that made Sam smile a little wider and roll is eyes skyward before returning with something witty that made her throw her head back and laugh out loud.

Sam looked up and smiled at Dean, motioning him forward.

The brunette noticed the shift in attention, said something to Sam and turned the gray on his heels to trot off towards the second show ring where a few other English riders were waiting for the call. Sam twisted around in the saddle to watch her go.

"She doesn't have to leave on my account." Dean purred with a suggestive smirk. Sam sighed as if Dean had become less of a tease and more of an annoyance that needed to be tolerated, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Celia slowed her trot down and neared them.

"Great job, Red." Sam smiled broadly at her. She flashed a grin back.

"One down." Dean slapped her knee happily and stopped dead at the flinch of pain in Celia's face. He looked down; he'd just slapped her left knee. "God, Celia sorry-"

"It's alright," She rasped out thickly and shivered once. "Ya didn't do it on purpose."

"Whats the matter? Those _old_ bones giving out on you?"

The three of them twisted to look towards the voice and looked at the alabaster mask that was Shakes' face.

Dean resisted every urge to lunge and forcibly dismount the smart-assed bastard.

"A little, yeah." Celia responded calmly, with a truthful small smile.

Shakes looked shocked and then disgusted with the honest response, he yanked around the blood bay mare and swiftly trotted away.

"Little advice boys, don't take bait as obvious as that." Celia sighed and lifted a hand to rub her nose.

"You're just cool." Sam chuckled. Celia just shrugged and stayed exceptionally still below the waist. When Topmoon Goldfinch started a step forward, Celia let out a tight gasp of pain and jerked back on the reins to stop her from moving.

"Red, are you okay?" Sam asked sharply.

"Hurtin' a little. I'll be fine." Celia's teeth chattered slightly. "Got to rest a little before the next round.

"When?"

"Twenty minuets. Stayin' here's fine. 'Finch is the one back in the ring, anyway. 'Catcher and Ceasefire are the rodeo ponies." Celia looked blearily over the tops of the heads in some general direction of the sky.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at a movement in the corner of his eye. The next class seemed the same as Sam and Celia's one before it, except all the horses were slimmer in frame, had narrower faces and deeply arched necks.

"Arabians." Celia muttered, flinching when Topmoon Goldfinch stepped forward.

"Hang on." Dean muttered, looking up at her, "Just a second, hang on."

He turned and took off at a run. Celia glanced at Sam, the younger Winchester shrugged.

"Ya did great for yer first time Sam." Celia changed the topic.

"It really was my first time?" Sam asked, fingering the yellow ribbon.

"Ya did some mutton bustin' when ya were a pup but rodeo wasn't really yer thing." Celia assured. "Ya must have more refined blood, the way ya settled right in with the saddle." Celia reached out and rubbed his shoulder.

Dean tore through the faire grounds. His chest heaving and he was forced to slow down when a fit of coughing hit him hard, choking him.

"Goddamn…" He rasped and broke into a tired jog. When had a simple run become such an effort? "Heatstroke sucks…" Dean coughed and skidded into their camp. The three dogs looked up, perking their ears.

"Stay." Dean ordered and yanked open the cooler full of alcohol. He practically gagged a little and felt the burning dizziness bubbling in his chest and stomach just at the sight of the _Bru-ha_. He snatched up the bottle, with a deep breath turned and forced himself to run back down the dirt track along the stables and faire grounds, in front of a cheering crowd and the show ring, finally slowing down to a stiff walk in sight of Celia and Sam. They were talking quietly.

"Here." He rasped, unscrewing the lid of the _Bru-ha_ and holding it towards her.

"Far from PC." Sam muttered, looking around and hoping that no judges or kids were watching at that second.

"It'll work, thought." Celia gave Dean a small smile of thanks and took the alcohol, throwing back a single mouthful before handing it back to him. Dean scrunched his face a little at the intoxicating burn that seared from the bottle and burned the inside of his nose.

"Ya gone off it?" Celia asked.

Dean shrugged, screwed the lid back onto the bottle, stepping back when Sam edged Cottoneye Cloud forward to get out of the way of the exiting Arabian class. The winner, an elder man dressed in dark greens and blacks on a big bay gelding. Celia nodded to him and he nodded back, his pepper gray mustache twitching.

"Are you going to be alright?" Dean asked.

"I have to be." Celia grumbled and with a deep breath squeezed her knees into Topmoon Goldfinch's sides and started off at a walk towards the paddock. Sam gave Dean an apologetic look and started after her.

"Sam-" Dean grabbed his younger brother's arm and yanked him hard to get his attention. "Sam, one event and she's already hurting."

"Dean, there isn't-"

"Just be there if she needs you, alright?"

"Dean-"

"Just do it, Sam!"

Sam looked startled down into his brother's eyes, the green pools pleading, practically begging him to agree. Sam suspected there was something between them, but it was strange seeing this kind of reaction in him. Sam had only glimpsed it when Sam himself was half dead or in danger. The big brother instinct.

"Sure, Dean." Sam assured. Dean heaved a shallow breath and let go of Sam's sleeve. The younger Winchester clicked his tongue and the palomino broke into a trot to catch up to Celia who was already halfway through a circle around the paddock. Sam avoided a few other riders and loped up to Celia's side.

"What's next?" He asked.

"A lot of the same." She sighed. Throwing a look back in time to see Dean climb into a seat in the crowd to watch, turning the bottle of blackish amber liquid in his hands.

"Lets smooth ya out."

Sam nodded.

…

Dean felt left out, sitting and shifting in his seat in the stands while Sam and Celia circled the ring in show after show and took ribbon after ribbon. After that show of bad temper in the first match Shakes couldn't score a placing higher than third when Sam and Celia were in the same ring. His only first place takes in matches that Celia and Sam didn't qualify: Tennessee Walker and Standard Bred gaits. Dean paid little more attention than to count the number of ribbons Shakes took to match them against Celia's, unfortunately they stayed well even. Dean quietly threw a fit twice when Sam actually placed higher than Celia, getting two blue silks. To add to a number of yellows for third, two or three red for second and a few purples. Sam, Dean had to admit, was a perfect natural, sat confidently on the palomino's back, one of the best looking riders out there could do no wrong and never placed lower than the top five.

Sam had quickly become a hit in the shows. Dean kept hearing Sam's alias repeated along side Celia's over and over.

Dean could feel the cold rock of jealousy settle in his stomach, the way that Sam paced handsomely next to Celia in the rings, looking as much of a modern knight in shining armor as someone could be in the Nevada desert. Dean slumped down into his seat pressed in against the cold steel of the stands and crossing his arms tightly across his chest, actually falling into a fitful sleep of green eyed dreams.

"_Alright, ya two get started on grainin' the horses."_

"_Why can't ya do it, Eli?" Celia sniffed back, scratching her red hair between her stubby horns. Sam and Dean on each of her sides looked at her, still not used to the rebellion that the red head always displayed to her elder brother._

"_I'm vettin', yer feedin'. Get to it." The twenty two year old ordered and pointed at the grain and several empty chow buckets. Celia grumbled and turned on her heel, starting for the chore, Dean and Sam turned to help._

"_Dean, can I talk to ya a second?"_

_Dean hesitated, looking after a disgruntled Celia and a perky Sam._

"_Dean."_

_The tone gave the elder Winchester an idea that he was in trouble. Dean bowed is head and walked up to Elijah, keeping his eyes on his shoes._

"_Look at me Dean, I need to see yer eyes right now."_

_Dean looked up at the older man, wide shouldered and a barrel of muscular chest. Skin tanned to a tawny color, his face lined with a few ancient scars, raven hair tied back in a loose pony tail at the base of his skull. His jaw was a little softer than his father's had been. Dean looked dead into the sharp grey-blue eyes. He was slightly relieved to see softness in them. _

"_Dean, I need ya to ask for a favor, big time, Little Man, can ya handle it?"_

_Dean puffed, taking a deep breath and puffed his chest at the nickname, "Yes."_

_Elijah twisted his head towards him, "What I tell ya 'bout makin' deals before ya know terms?"_

"'_Don't do it unless you're the one writing the contract.'"_

"_Right."_

"_I don't think you'd try to pull a Coyote on me, Eli."_

"_Ya never know, Dean. But ya want to hear what I have to say?"_

_Dean's head bobbed; his chest puffing. _

_Elijah looked up and over the young man's head at Celia and Sam struggling with feed and chow buckets. Elijah dropped down onto one knee to be a little below eye level with Dean._

"_Little Man, yer fourteen now, right?"_

_Dean's head bobbed again._

"_Well damn, Dean, yer a man. Yer daddy's takin' ya out on hunts, right?"_

"_I got a black dog a month ago." Dean said proudly._

"_Damn straight, ya'll give me and John a run for our money one day. And ya take real good care of yerself and yer daddy and Sammy. Yer grades are good, ya try real hard, do all yer chores, yer real responsible. Ya should be proud of yerself Dean, ya've done things men three times yer age never could." _

_Dean's chest puffed so large that he almost looked like a cartoon character. "Yeah," was all he could manage to say._

_Elijah laughed gently, then turned a little serious. "Listen Dean, ya know how I'm a soldier, like yer daddy and mine?"_

_Dean nodded, starting to get a little nervous, he was a teenager, fourteen and far from stupid and knowing very well that something devastating was on its way._

"_Well, they're askin' me to take my first tour out in Kuwait-"_

"_Where's that?" Dean interrupted, terror rising sharply in his chest. Someone else in his family was leaving. His mom, all her family, Nathaniel, now Elijah._

"_Overseas, few thousand miles away." Elijah said, easing down to sit stiffly on his hip in the aisle of the barn. "Real far from home-"_

"_There'll be someone there to watch your six, right? Like Dad and Uncle Nathaniel in 'Nam?"_

"_Sure, Derek Lynch is in my company, remember? And Calico is our medic."_

_Dean nodded, assured and took a deep breath. "How long?"_

"_A year. Thing is Dean, I can't keep and eye on my little sister, can't help her and protect her while I'm over there, because I have to protect the rest of my company. Yer doin' such a good job with yerself and yer baby brother, I want to ask ya if ya could watch out for her while I'm gone?"_

_Dean blinked, twisting around and looking around at Celia. She was digging into the feed barrel and struggling to keep from knocking the grain over. _

"_Little Man, She really likes ya, never talks back to ya the same way that she does me. I'm askin' ya if ya would just protect her and help her when she needs it, just like ya do for Sammy. Even if she says she doesn't need yer help and tells ya to go away, no matter what it is." Elijah pressed reching out and settling a massive hand on Dean's narrow shoulder. _

"_Even with her homework?" Dean asked._

_Elijah nodded solemnly. "Even the homework. When she's sick or feelin' good, happy or sad, good times or bad."_

"_Like Sammy?"_

"_If Sammy was a red head girl with horns and a bit of a bad temper, yeah, just like Sammy." Elijah gave Dean a second, then pressed on, "Its real important, Dean. A big job and yer the only one I can trust with it."_

_Dean looked around at his little brother and the red head twelve year old. His heart puffed, stretching wider to swallow the new responsibility._

"_Okay." Dean assured. "Until you get back-"_

"_No, Dean, always. When I'm here or not."_

_Dean thought again for a few seconds, "Okay."_

"_Deal?" Elijah held out his large hand, it easily swallowed and dwarfed Dean's smaller hand when it slipped in._

"_Deal."_

"_Alright, now get to work." Elijah forced himself stiffly to his feet and nudged Dean towards the two younger kids. Dean trotted up to Celia, she was struggling violently with an over filled bucket of grain, it was starting to slop over the side in waist. Dean walked next to her._

"_Need help?"_

"_No." Celia growled indigently; "Can do it myself."_

_Dean hesitated, then grabbed a hold of one side of the chow bucket's handle and lifted it, his added strength lightening the load considerably. _

"_I don't need help, Dean!" Celia growled. _

"_I know, but I want to help."_

Dean jerked violently when he was flicked in the ear. He lurched, instinctively rubbing his ear to dull the pain.

"C'mon Dean." Celia rasped thickly. He twisted around, she was sitting astride Topmoon Goldfinch in the dirt track behind the spectator stands. Sitting on the back of the filly she was about the same height as the top bench. With a hoof turned back Cottoneye Cloud waited patiently next to them, his reins wrapped around Celia's saddle horn.

He blinked tiredly at her, brushing a hand over his face.

"Dean, c'mon. Yer shows up next." Celia blinked tiredly, another blue silk strung from the bridle.

"Alright." He muttered, and pushed himself up to start down the benches.

"Naw, up and over, Dean."

He looked at her for a second, then started back up the benches. Dean maneuvered the bottle of _Bru-ha _and swiftly climbed up the back of the stands, swung is leg over and started down the back. He hesitated, looking down at her. Stuck and unsure how to finish what he'd started, hanging tightly to the back side of the stands.

"_Bru-ha._" Celia held out her hand, she took the bottle when he held it out, shifting it over into the same hand with the reins in it then held out her newly freed hand.

"Step down onto Goldfinch's rump with yer left and swing around onto Cotton's back." Celia instructed, Dean couldn't help but notice the exhaustion in her voice. He reached out and took her hand tightly, weaving his fingers with hers, eased his left boot down onto the white flecked rump. The filly gave a little start but stayed still when Celia clicked at her assuringly. Dean's grip on the back of the bandstand and Celia's hand tightened, waiting for a second before proceeding. He swung his right boot off the rails and around, letting go of the bandstand. For a second Dean balanced one footed on the back of Topmoon Goldfinch's rump, his only counter balance the grip he had on Celia's hand.

Dean set his right boot onto the middle of the saddle that Sam had vacated sometime during his elder brother's doze. Both boots resting on a horse Dean changed his mind.

"Go." He commanded and pointed forwards.

"What?" Celia seemed to snap out of doze.

"Go! Forward! Mush!" Dean urged, smiling broadly and playfully. The daredevil in him in full swing.

"Ya? Ride Roman?"

"What ever the hell it's called just go!"

Celia twisted around and looked up at his grin, Dean's hand tightened on Celia's.

She looked ready for argument then shrugged. "Put yer right foot on Cotton's rump, stay even."

Dean made the move his heart thumping happily and his grip tightening again. Celia clicked her tongue and whistled. Cottoneye Cloud and Topmoon Goldfinch twitched their ears back at Dean but moved forward as commanded.

Dean wavered a little but got the rhythm. It was a walk but Dean swore it felt like a gallop.

"Whoo!" Dean whooped and punched the air with his free hand. Heads turned, smiles broke out on tired faces, people pointed and laughed at the antics but Dean could have cared less. Grinning like a madman Dean shifted his grip around in Celia's hand, relaxing then relinking their fingers, he was shivering a little, Celia's thumb brushed along the side of his hand, assuring him. Dean's heart thumped happily and he looked down at the top of Celia's hat, resisting the urge to flip her hat off and settled into the rolling steps of the horses.

"Go faster." Dean encouraged.

"And ya'll eat gravel, no." Celia smiled up at him.

"You're ruining my fun."

"Shut up."

"Dean?" Dean twisted around; Sam was standing with a large funnel cake in his hands. The same pretty girl he'd spoken to a few hours earlier was next to him, still in her English riding outfit. Bright chocolate eyes turning and she broke into an amused smile.

"Hey Sammy!" Dean threw back his shoulders and did a little princess wave as Celia guided the horses up the dirt track towards their camp.

"Oh my god." Sam muttered, flushing in embarrassment. The girl giggled a little.

"My brother acts like that, it's not so bad." She assured, then grinned devilishly, "Except he's like, seven."

Sam groaned, "I'll see you later." The younger Winchester swiftly rushed after Dean and Celia.

"Alright Dean, end of the line." Celia sat backing the saddle and Topmoon Goldfinch stopped, Cottoneye Cloud took a step further and Dean swayed and tipped dangerously, his balance lurching and his heart jerking violently and fear flushed his chest at the thought of a fall.

"Dean."

He settled, taking a deep breath and relaxing at the assurance in her voice. Dean felt a gentle squeeze around his hand. Comforted Dean's grimace between and insane grin and a snarl of fear dimmed down to a gentle smile, he squeezed back and carefully maneuvered around to stand only on Topmoon's Goldfinch's rump, then, still gripping her hand he slid off the filly to the earth, he stumbled, trying to get over his vertigo.

"Dean, my hand's crampin'.'

"Oh…sorry." Dean let go of her hand, his fingers cramped and shook his hand out. With deep chested, joyous barks Valentine, Buckshot and Alamo scrambled to their paws and trotted over, tails aloft and wagging excitedly. Dean reached and scratched their ears lightly.

"Go get Ceasefire ready. Brush him real good and I'll pull out the show halter." Celia stiffly swung down from Topmoon Goldfinch's back and limping stiffly towards the stalls where Honeycatcher and Ceasefire tossed their heads and nickered. Celia tiredly knotted the two sets of reins to the hitch rings on the stall doors.

Sam jogged up and skidded up to Dean. "Dean!"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, his eye distractedly on Celia's left knee as she struggled to unsaddle the buckskin appaloosa filly.

"What the hell was that?" Sam hissed. Dean looked around at him, then with a wry grin tore off a chunk of funnel cake and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Fun." Dean muttered, chewing and jogged over to Celia, forcibly taking the heavy saddle out of her hands. He draped the breast collar, girth and cinch over his shoulder.

"I'll do that." He was already walking away with it.

"Dean, no. Go get Ceasefire set up for the ring." Celia growled, stiffly walking after him.

"I've got a little time." Dean assured her, setting the saddle down on its horn.

Celia sighed ill temperedly then with a sigh turned back to pull the blanket off the mare's back and carried it over to the truck, tossing it into the bed and pulling out a towel and started to rub down the buckskin appaloosa's back, scrubbing out sweat and collected dust.

Dean started in on Cottoneye Cloud, unbuckling the cinch.

"Dean! Get to work on Ceasefire!" Celia barked the order, making the elder Winchester twist around and look at her. "Sam can do that."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Sam set his funnel cake down and quickly took Dean's place. "I'll finish up on Goldfinch, too. You help Dean out." Sam assured.

Celia grunted in return, untied Topmoon Goldfinch's reins, backed the mare up, retying the filly to the door of an empty stall.

"Dean." Celia waved him over, unlocking the door to Ceasefire's stall, gripping the nylon halter and pulled him out. She hooked the nylon halter to the lead on the door and swiftly unbuckled and pulled off the blue blanket off Ceasefire's back.

"Grab a couple brushes from the bucket and get his right side." Celia instructed, she briefly draped her arms across Ceasefire's back and dipped her head forward to brace her forehead against his ribs. She heaved out a heavy sigh, her eyes shut and clearly resting. Ceasefire twisted his ears back and nickered quietly; he swung his head around and pushed his nose gently into the crook of her shoulder and neck. He breathed heavily out of his nose, tickling her ear and ruffling her hair. Celia reached up and scratched the blue roan's jaw.

Dean filled his chest, feeling sympathy stretching in his chest as he dug out the two horse brushes and stepped up next to her.

"Here." He said quietly, almost whispering and holding out one of the brushes. She seemed to drag her head up and took the brush from him.

"Thanks." Celia took the brush and started working in circles over Ceasefire's fur. Dean reluctantly stepped around to the horse's other side and followed her example.

"Are all the Western shows over?" Dean asked, twisting to look over his shoulder at Sam.

"Yeah." Celia said.

"And we cleaned house. It was awesome!" Sam chirped, grinning madly.

"Yeah." Celia sounded so far from enthusiastic it made Dean and Sam look around at her.

"What's the matter Celia?" Dean asked, ignoring the look Sam threw him. Dean shrugged it off, he knew it was because of the way he had abandoned calling Celia 'Red'. Dean just couldn't bring himself to call her 'Red' anymore, it didn't fit correctly.

She wasn't 'Red' to him.

"I'm tired…" She said, dropping back to cropped and clipped sentences.

"But you're done, right." Sam asked.

"For a couple hours. Got rodeo at one." Celia brushed down Ceasefire's legs, pressing into his heel and lifting his hoof, brushing out the inside, before reaching drastically to the tack bucket and pulling out a hoof pick and a bottle of hoof oil, she stuck the latter in her jeans pocket and dug out the manure and mud caked into his hoof. She did the same for the hind then passed Dean the hoof pick under Ceasefire's belly and he mimicked her.

Celia tipped a little off the hoof oil out onto her hand and rubbed her palm over the outside of Ceasefire's hooves, stretched into rub Dean's after he's cleaned them. Celia set the oil back into the bucket and stiffly limped towards the tack tub, pulling it open and slipping out a sleek, leather show halter and leather lead. Instead of a loop under for the lead to snap onto there was a silver chain running from the right jowl, under the jaw and through the right, linking directly into the lead. Celia stepped over, unbuckled and slid the nylon halter from Ceasefire's head and fit the show alter into place. She tugged the lead and chain briefly, snugging it into place and draped the lead over the blue roan's back.

Ceasefire nickered, perking his ears forward.

"Alright, Dean. Lets get ya in the ring." Celia tugged on the leather straps of the show halter and turned Ceasefire on his heels. Dean hesitated and looked back at Sam.

"It's alright, I'll finish up." Sam assured, he'd finished rubbing down Cottoneye Cloud and was starting on Topmoon Goldfinch.

"Ya can put her in a stall to cool, Sam." Celia called, "Come watch yer brother."

Sam didn't need to be told twice, he quickly turned the filly into the empty stall. He swiftly jogged up next to Dean, smiling broadly at his elder brother.

Dean's chest puffed happily and he bounced up next to Celia. He immediately checked his good mood at her strained face.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, leaning towards her.

"No." Celia admitted truthfully, then ignored him at the imploring look for her to continue. Dean stopped from continuing when Sam trotted up on his other side.

Heads twisted around to look at them, admiring Ceasefire and noticing the two riders that had been sweeping the show so far and the man that had taken it on himself to go riding Roman around the grounds. Dean's stomach started to twist nervously when they made their way up to the show ring, several other handsome horses in show halters were waiting patiently with handlers. Dean couldn't help but smile at a ten year old holding tightly to the lead of a seventeen hand, bay Quarter Horse. His brief smiled faded as Sam stepped away, wishing him luck and found a place to sit in the bandstand. Dean filled his chest and exhaled slowly.

"Alright Dean, ya'll be fine, it's just a little, novice Quarter Horse type show. Give him a little room on the lead and if he doesn't square up just tug him forward a little. He'll do most of the work for the horse part, ya charm the judge, I know ya can." Celia assured, reached out and gently gripped Dean's forearm. Dean started a little, her hand was shaking.

"Celia." He said sharply, pulling her hand off his arm and holding it between his, it continued to shiver, "Celia, you're shaking."

"I'll be alright after a little rest. Just get through this show and we can relax." Celia assured.

"This is it? You promise you'll take it easy?" Dean pressed hope drumming up in his chest.

"Unless ya take blue in this ring and go on to best in working class. Ya take blue in that ya go to best in show. If ya go the whole way nothin' more than half an hour." Celia assured, "After that yeah, I'll take it easy."

Dean sighed and nodded, cutting his losses and agreeing. He released her hand, reached out and took the lead from her.

"Half an hour."

"At most." Celia assured. She patted his shoulder and stepped back, walking over to Sam and sitting next to him. Dean took a deep breath, filling his chest and rubbing his knuckles over Ceasefire's neck, he could feel the pulse of the massive animal. When the gates open Dean fell into step behind the ten year old and the bay. Jogging into the ring he was a little startled by Ceasefire. The blue roan lunged into the ring, kicking up his heels and rearing a little in a hop instead of the steady walk that the class started with. Dean gave the lead a gentle tug and Ceasefire settled into a smooth walk, head high. Ceasefire nickered loudly, squealing at Sam and Celia as they passed the first time. Dean's heart hammered nervously when he heard his alias called over the megaphone, he smiled briefly when he heard Sam and Celia whistling and clapping encouragingly.

Dean chanced a glance back at Ceasefire. The stud's neck was arched gracefully, ears thrown forward and nostrils flared. Ceasefire picked up his hooves a little higher than the average Quarter Horse, the appaloosa blood running hot in his veins. The stud's tail was lifted, long hair swishing a round his hind legs. Dean reached out and patted Ceasefire's neck as they paced around the ring.

"_Trot your horses please! Trot your horses!"_

Dean broke into a jog, Ceasefire hopped forward, breaking to a long legged trot that made Dean speed up. The elder Winchester felt like he was the one on a show lead. Cheers echoed dully in his ears every time he trotted passed the fence facing the stands. He scoped out the other competitors, noticing Shakes and a dapple grey stud. Shakes shot him a dangerous glare and Dean sent him a smug, inviting grin. Dean blinked as someone passed in front of his vision.

"_Walk your horses, please! Walk your horses!"_

"Perfect." Dean whispered to himself, lowing Ceasefire down to a walk. He grinned devilishly at the judge, a middle aged woman with all the right curves, her dark blonde hair tied up lightly. She looked a little startled at Dean's brilliant smile; she actually flushed a little and swiftly made a note on her clipboard.

"In the bag." Dean whispered to himself. In a few minuets they lined up, Dean on Shake's left and the right of the ten year old and they bay.

"Hi." She said.

"Hey." Dean grinned back at her gently as they positioned themselves in front of the horses. Dean choked up on the lead and lifted Ceasefire's head a little higher. The stud snorted, having set himself up, one hind leg thrown forward under the rest of his squared up stance.

"It's my first show." The ten year old continued, she looked nervous. The bay dipped his head and snuffled in her pig tails for a second. Dean smiled assuringly at her.

"Mine, too."

"Really?" The ten year old looked up at him with a wild grin. "Cool!"

"Way cool." Dean leaned over and held up his hand, instantly receiving a high five. There was a round of cheers and laughter at the clap. Dean and the ten year old smiled broadly, at each other missing the nod of approval from the judge, the woman made another mark on her clipboard. The judge made a motion that she wanted the class to walk around the ring one more time.

"_Walk your horses, please! Walk your horses!"_

Dean waited until the girl and her bay were out in front of him and falling into step behind her, giving her a thumbs up in assurance.

"_First place is-"_

The moan motioned to Dean. Sam exploded, whooping and whistling louder than anyone else in the crowd.

"_Dean Wilson and Ceasefire!"_

Dean smiled broadly, getting another high-five from the ten year old as he passed over to take the blue silk from the judge. She clipped it onto Ceasefire's show halter.

Dean blinked, missing then they called the ten year old to take the red ribbon for second.

"I placed!" She cheered excitedly; Dean reached out and ruffled her hair.

"Should have got blue, kid." Dean said, looking mock shocked. The ten year old smiled sheepishly and tore off, practically dragging her bay after her to race to smiling parents at the exit gate of the ring. Dean got lost for a few seconds, wondering if John had ever stood in that same position waiting for him.

Dean jumped and Ceasefire jerked, spooking sharply when Shakes slammed his shoulder bodily into Dean's side, the grey stud lurching to the side and snorting angrily, trying to avoid Dean himself.

The elder Winchester focused entirely on calming the blue roan appaloosa. When he looked up Shakes shot him a deadly look then threw his head up in the air. Dean's satisfaction was settled when the sight of a purple ribbon was joined by Sam's voice.

Dean actually flinched and looked around at Sam at the string of curses that issued from his little brother's mouth. In a few seconds Dean noticed Celia muttering to Sam, and the curses issuing from the younger Winchester Dean new she was feeding him things to say. A few shocked faces around him finally settled Sam back into his seat, still clearly muttering under his breath.

Dean stood for photographs and received his white envelope, silver belt buckle and was sent around the ring at a victory trot, his picture again snapped mid-stride before he made his way out of the ring. Dean jogged, making Ceasefire trot after him down long side the ring where Sam and Celia lurched out of their seats and rushed up to meet him. Sam grinned wildly and thumped him on the shoulder.

Dean grinned, practically tuning out Sam's compliments and turned to look at Celia. Her exhausted face was split into a grin. She walked a little slower then Sam, but pushed passed the younger Winchester to Dean; she threw her arms around Dean's neck, hugging him tightly for a few seconds before backing off. Dean's heart thumped, he tipped his head slightly towards her touch as her hand grazed across his jaw line.

"Great show Dean." Celia praised and Dean puffed proudly. "Well go on! Get lined up, that was the last show before working class, go!"

Dean swiftly unclipped the blue silk, passing it, the white envelope and buckle to Sam and pulled Ceasefire back into motion. The next round was much like the first, except all the faces and horses were different. Dean put on his best smile, the new judge, a slighter, more up tight looking woman only nodded at him and Dean walked out of the ring with third place and another white envelope.

Sam rushed up to meet him.

"Great job Dean." The younger brother praised, grinning madly.

"Thanks Sammy." Dean said but his smile faltered and he looked around. "Where's Celia?" Dean asked, scanning the faces and scratching Ceasefire's jaw assuringly.

"She said she needed to go sit for minuet, but she saw you win third place." Sam put in hoping it soothed Dean a little.

"She went back to the truck?" Dean asked sharply. Sam sighed heavily.

"Dean relax, she just wanted to take a little break. She's tired, not hurt." Sam assured.

"No Sam, she is hurt. Her knee." Dean growled and started to yank Ceasefire after him. Sam snapped into action, grabbing Dean's arm and tugging him back.

"Dean, stop." Sam ordered. "Calm down, you're acting worse than Buckshot, remember he tried to tear your throat out? What's this whole over protective thing all the sudden?"

"All th…Sam I never wanted her to ride! She's killing herself!"

"Dean!" Sam snapped, clearly losing his patience for the situation. "I don't exactly remember you pitching a fit when she decided to do this!"

Dean bristled, bared his teeth at Sam.

"I wasn't singing its praises either!" Dean snarled.

"Dean, you're not responsible for her!" Sam barked. "She can take care of herself and make her own choices!"

"Well, I think she needs a little help." Dean snapped, passing Sam Ceasefire's lead and turning on his heel, breaking into a jog up the dirt track. The elder Winchester pushed a run and skidded to slow down when the Silverado came into view. But Celia didn't. Dean rushed up to the stall, ducking his head in to see if she was behind the door. Dean jumped over the back of Alamo, the merle collie jerked, ears thrown forward in surprise. Dean yanked open the passenger door of the Silverado.

Panic flooded his chest.

"Celia!?!" He called; turning and rushing towards the trailer.

"Here, Dean." Celia's voice drifted to him, disembodied and exhaustion clear in the tone.

Dean whipped around so hard he got a crick in his neck. He sighed in relief and calmed down enough to walk towards the truck bed. The trailer was unhitched; truck pulled forward a bit and the tailgate down, the remaining tubs and tack in the bed shifted around to make a gap. Celia was sprawled on her back; her left leg was draped carefully over the top of the two stacked bags of grain. She'd stripped out of hr black leather chaps, the fleece and suede coat that Dean had 'stolen' from her earlier was balled up under her head and shoulders; her Stetson pulled down over her horns and hair but tipped over her brow.

She blinked her eyes slowly and tiredly.

"Hey." She smiled at him, her chest expanding thinly. Dean's heart sank at how small she looked, vulnerable. Dean felt his heart and stomach churn protectively. He carefully climbed up into the truck bed.

"Ya did great in the second round. I'm real proud of ya." Celia's voice sounded thick and bleary, as if she was half asleep or medicated. "Sorry I didn't stick 'round, I saw ya get yer ribbon-"

"It's alright." Dean assured, somewhat pleased that she seemed to be trying her best to assure him that she cared about what had happened in his show, the elder Winchester eased down to sit next to her legs, his back braced against the side of the bed, facing her.

"Are you okay?"

"Will be." She said, blinked her eyes close, her chest rising slowly, one of her arms curled up into her chest and she let out a sigh that Dean was unsure if it was painful or relaxed. Dean blinked, looking up, the sun was right over head, warming them and the metal in the truck bed comfortably.

"Have to be…got rodeo in an hour and a half." Celia continued, it sounded more like she was assuring herself.

"Is it your knee?" Dean asked, looking down at her ankle next to him, resting elevated on the livestock chow.

"A big part." Celia didn't open her eyes when she spoke.

Dean sighed and looked down at her ankles and boots. The elder Winchester chewed his lower lip, then reached over and gingerly lifted her feet and legs off the bags of grain. Dean froze at the low hiss of pain.

"Dean-"

"Just hold on a second." Dean assured her, easing her legs down to rest across his own knee and thighs. He carefully slid her boots off. Celia hissed and actually whimpered in pain, trying to stay quiet as Dean shifted around to get comfortable under her legs. Dean hesitated a second then gingerly rested his hands on her left knee. Dean manipulated every strip of knowledge and experience he had with joint and muscle pain and carefully started to work her knee.

"That hurts." Celia muttered.

"Stop?"

"No…startin' to…feel a little better…"

Dean looked up towards her face, Celia's eyes were shut, the remains of a grimace of pain starting to fade from her features.

Dean tried to recall some of the motions Celia had used on him the night before, he messaged gently into the swelling of her knee, the muscles in her calf and thigh through the thick fabric of her jeans, her foot twitched. Even easing his hands down to her ankle and foot, he moved lightly and carefully over the damaged knee, as if trying to coax the joint into relaxing and healing.

"Good…" Celia mumbled.

Dean felt her leg go completely slack and smiled sadly when he looked up and could clearly see she was asleep.

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**Hope y'all liked, read and review please!**

**The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...**


	24. Rough Rider

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! **

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Rough Rider**

**"Its the bulls and blood, the dust and mud the roar of a Sunday crowd! The white in the knuckles the gold in the buckle he'll win in the next go round!Its boots and chaps and cowboys hats, spurs and latigo! The ropes and rein the joy and the pain and they call the thing a rodeo!"**

**-THE Garth Brooks**

…

Dean shifted, turning into the warmth pressed into his side.

"JESUS! DEAN!"

The elder Winchester jerked awake, whipping around in a half panic.

"DEAN! MY KNEE!"

"Shit!" Dean scrambled, hauling his weight up and tipping over sharply, landing oddly and painfully on his side in the truck bed. Celia collapsed onto her back and panted in pain, her face was twisted in agony, her left leg hauled up in the air towards her chest, she rasped, easing it back down and letting out single choked sob.

"What happened?" Sam skidded, smacking hard into the side of the truck bed and scrambling to haul himself up onto the wheel to peer into the truck bed. "What happened!?!"

"Dean rolled over on my knee." Celia gasped out, trying to get a hold of herself.

"Shit." Dean pushed himself up to his knees and shifted over, sitting at Celia's shoulder and carefully lifted her head up to rest on his calf.

"Damnit Dean." Sam growled.

"Celia, I'm sorry." Dean pressed, soothing and begging her forgiveness. "I swear I didn't know.'

"I know." Celia rasped out, her teeth were grit in pain. "Ya were sleepin'."

Dean started to reach for her left knee.

"NO!"

He jerked back as if he had been struck.

"Just leave it…Jesus it feels like pure Hell…" Celia shivered, her hand reached around and clawed his shirt, wrapping tightly in the fabric. Dean, unsure what else to do with his hands, rested one on her collar bone, just over the dip where her where her neck and shoulder met. He used the other to pull her hat free and setting it aside. Dean thread his fingers into her hair between her horns, her curled his fingers under the curve of the ram's set and scratched at the sensitive skin at the base.

"Sam, go get some ice." Dean pressed, nodding towards the front of the truck. The younger Winchester dropped off the wheel and jogged towards the coolers.

Dean turned his attention back to Celia, startled to see her face slack, as if she had fallen back asleep. Though her breathing was ragged and the edge of her eyes was beaded with tears. Dean reached, carefully brushed his fingers over her shut eyes and streaked away the salt water.

Her narrow chest filled halfway before collapsing back again, shaken and broken, sickly even.

"You okay?"

"No, ya damn fool!" Celia snarled, reached up and swatted him across the jaw. Dean's head jerked back a second after he contact. He was sure that it would have been more of a slap if Celia had been more attuned to action. The strike was less than venomous, more like a pat on the jaw but it cut into his heart.

Celia's hand slid back to its place, tangling in his shirt again, still shaking.

"Yer fuckin' heavy…"

"I'll go on a diet." Dean assured, twisting around as Sam hauled himself up into the truck bed, struggling with a piece of stretched leather, ice melting swiftly in the Nevada heat and dripping onto Sam's hands and arms. He scooted over and pressed the compress in the side of her left knee.

"The back, Sam." Dean urged, Sam instantly shifting the ice to the back of her knee, forcing her to lift and bend it a little. She hissed and dug her nails into the hard flesh of Dean's stomach. The elder Winchester locked his jaw and bit back a growl of pain. He focused on running his nails over her skull, even up along her horn, fingering the ridges almost intimately.

The motion seemed to help; she relaxed, shifting closer into Dean's frame. Her hand slacked, Celia's nails left from Dean's stomach, he was sure leaving a minor bruise. He was startled by the strength of her grip but racked it up to working with horses…and demonic basis…Dean grit his teeth. Here he was practically messaging a pair of horns growing out of her skull and forgetting there was a demon somewhere under her skin.

Every trained instinct in Dean reacted violently, screaming at him to get away or lash out. The muscles in his arm actually twitched, as if willing him to strangle her.

Dean lifted the hand from her collar bone, hesitating and for a second he was unsure what to do, then he rested his palm along her jaw. His thumb rubbed slow, soothing circles over the sensitive skin around her ear.

"What the hell did I do?" Celia rasped, shivering and licking her lips, "What the hell possessed me…"

"Northwind!?!"

Dean and Sam tensed, Celia's eyes snapped open.

"Shakes…"

In a blur Celia's hand snapped up and grabbed a hold of Dean's shirt collar and mercilessly yanked him down toward her. Dean had to resist every urge and reaction he had not to hit her.

"Dean Winchester if ya ever felt any kind of love for me, even if it was just mild pity, ya'll shoot that bastard in the face right now. There's a twelve gauge in my tool box." Celia hissed into his ear, she released his shirt and Dean sat up, a dangerous and wry grin on his face.

"I'd love to." Dean actually started towards the tool box, realizing suddenly how much he honestly wanted to get inside and search the mystery of the steel box. Getting to handle one of Celia's guns and shoot a particularly offensive person was an added advantage to a tempting deal.

"Dean."

Sam's sharp call for attention and Celia's bitten hiss of pain when he moved settled Dean back into his place and stayed quiet. Dean rested his hands comfortingly back onto Celia's jaw and her hair. He tensed and the three of them waited silently, listening to Shakes throw a fit somewhere near by until with an unsightly string of curses moved on, calling Celia a coward.

The red eyed rancher lurched up in her place and had to be pinned back down by Dean after the coward comment.

"Not a fuckin' coward!" Celia snarled, her red eyes darkening dangerously, even flecking black in hurt pride and rage. Dean rubbed her jaw and around her ear, trying to comfort her.

"Take it easy Red." Sam pressed hoping he would listen to him.

Celia took a few deep, pained breaths and settled.

"I'm alright…" She muttered. "What time is it?"

Sam dug into his jeans pocket and rooted out his Treo. The younger Winchester looked up uncertainly at his brother then spoke quietly. "Twelve thirty."

"I gotta warm up." Celia sighed, pushed away from the two brothers and sat up. She took a deep, shaking breath for a second before hauling herself up to stand in the truck bed. Celia took an experimental step on her left foot, sighed and rested a hand on Dean's shoulder as she moved out of the truck bed and eased herself down to earth.

"Hat." She held out her hand towards the brothers and waited until Dean passed her the black Stetson hat and stepped away.

"Red you-"

"Boys, go get seats in the stands if ya planned to watch. I've got this one, the both of ya have helped a lot, just go relax and watch the show…take the dogs." Celia commanded and walked stiffly towards the stall where Ceasefire and Topmoon Goldfinch cocked their ears towards her.

"Celia-"

"Get goin' fellas, or ya'll be stuck in the corners." Celia hauled Ceasefire out of the stall tied him to the door, then stepped over and pulled Honeycatcher out, clipping his halter to a lead as well.

Dean and Sam looked between each other, sliding out of the truck bed and starting towards her.

"Celia, we-" Dean started.

"Winchester. Get." Celia growled, her eyes darkening dangerously. Dean didn't step back but tensed his shoulders. The flecks of black had faded, but they were sharp and warning, the same way at a large, predatory animal looked when they growled but didn't dare attack.

Dean sighed, knowing there was no in here, then nodded to Sam. The younger Winchester looked between Dean and Celia then grabbed the leather leash at Buckshot and Valentine's collars and tugged the German Shepherds after him. Dean started for Alamo but backed off when the aged, merle collie growled at him. Dean shrugged and started down the dirt track. Dean twisted and looked over his shoulder at Celia who was busy brushing down Honeycatcher's pale crème colored coat.

The brothers didn't speak, Dean accepting Valentine's leash and patted the albino's shoulder more for his own comfort than the dog's. They followed the majority of the people moving towards the rodeo rings and arena.

"She's pissed." Sam muttered.

Dean said nothing, his eyes forward and his mind whirling. He was having trouble separating the demon from the woman; the line was blurring and fading. Celia had admitted to him that she could be killed, it was obvious that could easily be hurt, the severity of pain she could experience was clear. Dean wondered how many Hunters would have taken advantage of all the moments Dean had disregarded, it was painfully easy for him to count the number of times that he could have slit her throat, shot her and at one point exorcise the demon all together.

"Dean-"

"We need to find out more about her demon." Dean said; his voice rock hard and clear that he had settled into the hard bitten attitude trained into him by their father. Dean was Hunting.

Sam looked startled; a little shocked at not only had Dean tuned him out but had snapped into the state of mind and left his younger brother behind.

"What?" Sam hissed.

"Shikoaka." Dean growled. "I want it gone."

Sam looked around nervously hoping no one was paying attention, they started around the main ring, under towering flood lights and started up the steps to the observation seats.

"Dean, twenty five years is a long time, it could kill her."

"Call Bobby, Ellen and Ash. Hell call Jo." Dean growled, "Everyone. I want it gone and her alive."

"Dean-"

"Sam."

Sam grit his teeth, the look in Dean's eyes making it pointed there was no room for argument.

"Alright."

"Now."

"We can't now. We'll be back at the ranch tonight, we can get away from her and do some research." Sam assured. "We'll call everyone." The finality in Sam's voice was like a sworn promise, it seemed satisfy Dean who nodded then led the way through the sitting crowd to a small gap near the center of the stands, mid way long the main ring. Valentine and Buckshot bellied down, half under the seats as Dean and Sam settled themselves. Dean was so tuned into his trained and conditioned instincts that he was scoping the crowd for any signs of hostility, picking out faces that could be suspects or competition. He noted the easiest and fastest ways to get from on point to another in the surrounding rings and stands. He knew every face on the banner decorated judge and bandstand on the other side of the arena, he knew what volunteers in Sheridan Rodeo tee shirts were doing and why. Dean noted a few men dressed in patchwork shirts and pants painting their faces to looked oddly like Southwestern clowns two of them already dressed were rolling huge steel and plastic barrels out into the arena, he saw two volunteers in Sheridan Rodeo tee shirts were mounted on horses in full western tack with ropes and lariats strapped to their saddles and Stetsons on their heads waited patiently just out side of the ring, talking and laughing together. Dean counted ten black roper cattle, two browns, a spotted and three whites.

Dean soaked up everything and anything around him logging it all away until there was a period of relaxation that he could sort through and throw out the unneeded information.

He swept the crowd for a fifth time, his skin starting to itch and grinned.

"Hey." Dean nudged Sam's shoulder. "There's you're girlfriend."

Dean motioned down the rows of people to the mocha skinned girl Sam had chatted up all morning, she looked more relaxed in a pair of khaki capris, tennis shoes and a striped tank top of pale green and white. Sam whipped his head around so hard Dean was sure he heard a crack.

The girl was listening to another young man with dark hair and eyes and tawny skin.

"That's Benjamin Kimama." Sam muttered, eyeing the other man.

"Who?"

"The guy that Red and I went to get clothes and stuff this morning." Sam muttered distractedly, "What's she talking to Benjamin for?"

"Is that jealousy I hear?" Dean pushed, he got no response. The elder Winchester rolled his eyes heavenward and growled.

Either Benjamin or the girl had felt Sam's eyes; they looked around, caught his eye and broke into wide smiles, waving. Sam waved back before settling back into his seat and looking towards the arena. His hand started to scratch Buckshot's ears a little harder than normal. The dog whined and jerked his head out from under Sam's hand with a sniff.

"Sam-"

"Shut up, Dean." Sam said warningly.

Suddenly the crowd burst into applause and cheers. Dean and Sam looked around as Lynn Sheridan and a wide shouldered, deep chested man in jeans and a volunteer shirt walked out into the middle of the ring. The man looked like he must have somehow been related to Lynn, hair, eyes and complexion all the same as hers. They each held a clipboard and a wireless microphone.

"_Hey y'all." _Lynn said over the mike to the crowd, which refreshed its cheers.

"_Hang on now, let us get to the middle."_ The male said playfully with a tired smile. A few more strides and the pair where as close to center of the arena as possible.

"_Alright, everyone see us?"_ The male waved a hand over his head.

The crowd whooped loudly around the still and silent Winchester brothers.

"_Alright, sounds good."_ Lynn said with a smile, _"I'm Lynn Sheridan and my brother-_"

"_Luke."_ The man provided, each of their names earning special cheers.

"_And welcome to the …. Annual Sheridan Rodeo and Horseshow!"_ Luke Sheridan whooped over the microphone and clapped his hands along with the cheer and applause of the crowd. Valentine and Buckshot each barked loudly.

"_Thank ya to everyone out there in the stands, everyone that volunteered, everyone that has competed as of yet today! Y'all have done exceptional."_ Lynn said to another round of cheering.

"_They've been kickin' ass all day haven't they guys? Give 'em another round of cheers to all the people makin' this show happen!"_ Luke barked and the noise around the brothers pitched sharply.

The siblings waited for the noise to die down a little until it was almost silent.

"_Yeah, been great all day. Real clean and pretty, huh?"_ Lynn asked. The crowd responded with applause. _"Well its not over yet…"_

"_Ya'll ready to get down in the grit?" _Luke growled. The crowd thundered as one.

"_Yeah? Wanna get down in the dirt?"_

Louder cheers and screams; whistles and applause.

"_We'll let's rodeo!"_

"_We turn this thing over to the man behind the mike: Reverend James Jessee. Take it away Padre!" _Lynn waved her clipboard over her head. She and Luke turned and started to jog out of the ring.

"_Lets give the Twins a round of applause for a great event, folks!"_ A disembodied voice called over the mounted stereo and another round of applause followed Lynn and Luke Sheridan out of the ring.

"_Now can we have your attention please-"_

Dean's eyes drifted over the bandstand and he made out a slightly over weight man in a white Stetson hat, striped button down shirt and jeans was speaking over a head piece with a clipboard in hand. The Reverend Jessee was pacing slowly around a bandstand with a group of technicians behind a massive switch board and a stack of paper work and a plastic tub that Dean assumed held the ribbons and awards for the night.

"_We would like your silence while we present the Riderless Horse, remember our fallen in times of war and peace, everyone who fought the good fight."_

The crowd fell deathly silent, Sam and Dean looking around a little startled but stay ed silent as a gate opened and a mounted man, dressed much like Sam had been all day rode into the ring on a black painted horse. He was leading a large white mare, tacked out in smooth black leather saddle and bridle with a black silk fabric draped over the top of the saddle. Dean found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the empty saddle, placing not only his own father in that seat but the phantom of Nathaniel Greer, Caleb and Jim Murphy. The rider lead the white mare at casual walk around the ring one then crossed to the center of the ring and stood patiently.

"_And now the presentation of our flags."_

The gate opened again and a pair of riders cantered into the ring, two women on large horses, a bay and a chestnut, each holding tightly to a flag. The girl on the bay horse carried the American flag and the woman on the chestnut the Nevada state flag, a cobalt blue fabric marked in one corner with a gold banner reading 'Battle Born' in black letters, a white, five point star over the state's name between a half wreath of sprigs of green sagebrush and gold flowers.

The banners snapped loudly as the two riders cantered around the ring and then proceeded to set up in the center ring next to the Riderless Horse and the lead pony and rider.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for our National anthem."_

Dean jumped when Sam pushed himself to his feet, rising with the rest of the crowd. Dean hesitated for a second before getting up and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Sam nudged him, Dean looked at his brother, rolled his eyes and pulled the black Stetson hat off his head and waited grudgingly to take his seat again.

"Dean…its Red."

The elder Winchester's head snapped up sharply and he nearly tipped over with a wave of dizziness. Celia was walking stiffly but surely out into the center of the arena. Half of the crowd broke into mild applause but the red eyed woman seemed to ignore them, she rolled a wireless microphone between her hands. She stopped a few yards in front of the three riders and turned towards the crowd. She took a deep breath and sang into the microphone, humming out the national anthem in a true southwestern voice and tone. Dean felt his stomach flip and his chest tighten.

Dean couldn't call her a 'singer', definitely not one that would make it anywhere in a market of tiny waist, blonde and blue eyed drug addicted teenagers out in Hollywood. But it was more like one of those rare voices you caught on the wind on an early Sunday morning, drawn to follow it step for step into a church to listen and look on the single choir member practicing for a solo later that day. Raw and pure, hidden and untainted in the Nevada desert, Dean locked onto it, clinging practically desperately to Celia's voice.

Dean shivered once then settled; all emotion on his face gone.

Celia clung to the final notes of the anthem, rolling them out and finally snapping them like cutting an invisible thread and dropped the microphone from her lips. The crowd exploded into noise, whistles, cheers and applause. Celia smiled and waved a hand as she turned and walked back out of the arena.

_That wasn't a real smile_, Dean thought to himself as they settled back into their seats and chatter rose back up in the spectators as the Riderless Horse, lead rider and pony and the two flags loped out of the ring on Celia's heels.

Sam was staring at him with his jaw slightly slack. Dean bristled

"What?" The elder snapped.

"That was…she sounded great. " Sam forced out, blinking slowly.

"Yeah." Dean muttered, Sam looked a little like he had been slapped and turned his eyes forward to sulk.

"_Thank ya ladies and gentlemen, now lets get started with our first event! Ya'll ready to rodeo!"_

If Western Pleasure had been one of the most boring things Dean had ever witnessed, a Nevada rodeo nearly gave him a heart attack out of shear adrenaline and excitement. He'd seen one or two bull riding competitions on television before and once in Nebraska drifted in and out of a small town rodeo, stopping to watch some guy jump off a horse onto the back of a cow but not much more.

This was pure speed and power. So raw it left a bitter taste in his mouth and all set to the thundering lyrics and tones of southwestern country-rock music and Reverend Jessee's personal comments.

It was a blur of horse and human, rope and rein, leather and silver and gold, dust, cattle, spurs and latigo. Blood and sweat mixed with dust to make mud, earth churned into clouds so thick it was hard to see what happened behind them.

Horses of all colors, breeds and shapes grit their teeth around bits like football players did on mouth guards, snorting and practically roaring as they pawed impatiently to move. Riders called each other out, pounding on their horses, on a steer or heifer, themselves and their partners mercilessly. It was like they knew the sun would never rise the next day and poured their very souls into every move they made.

Celia was no different. She, Ceasefire and Honeycatcher exploded into the ring in each event they performed. Her first event was barrel racing, Celia and Honeycatcher tore around the barrels so close that Dean was sure her knees and the stud's shoulder brushed against the metal, but the barrels stayed still. She crashed around the steel drums so fast Dean blinked and she was gone again. He barely registered Reverend Jessee whooped that 'the old girl broke another national record!'

After that Dean's heart never stopped pounding.

Celia terrorized the cattle in her cutting and penning rounds, and then again on her calf roping runs with Ceasefire. Sliding off the blue roan appaloosa faster and sooner than any other competitor, slammed bodily into the calf, physically flipped it onto it's back and tied the terrified animal so securely it could barely jerk around for the five required seconds to assure a three legged tie.

She swept the competition away with Honeycatcher on her reining, barrel racing, and an agility course that Dean moved to the edge of his seat as Celia maneuvered and twisted the pale cremello's body over a makeshift bridge, over poles, pitchforks and shovel lined out on the earth, and wrapped his bulk gracefully around standing weave poles of white plastic.

To the elder Winchester there wasn't another recognizable person in the ring. Even the times that Sam nudged him and motioned to Shakes or another familiar face from the grounds. Dean barely noticed Benjamin Kimama leave the stands and suddenly reappear in the ring on the back of a painted pony. Each individual rider event was split up by team and group events, a round of bull riding, bronco busting and at one point before the sky darkened and the over head lights burned to life a bunch of kids dressed in full cowboy duds clung tightly to the wooly back of large black faced sheep before being flung off. Five young men performed western bull fighting; rodeo clowns provided safety and entertainment through the whole show along with the two volunteers on horses Dean had noted earlier that afternoon. Spectators made their own fun, standing up in groups to dance and dos-se-do to the music, waving flags and singing along with particular songs between eating and cheering for the riders.

And through it all, Dean was sickly aware that Celia's temper was cutting shorter and shorter as she bared her teeth at other competitors, moved faster and harder and pushed the two studs with each passing event, she pointed at Shakes and motioned him to bring it on more than once. The only reasoning that Dean could find for this shortening temper was the shear pain she was in. Dean clenched his teeth and flinched each time Celia's knee and leg twisted, jerked or was slammed into the dirt on a rough dismount. His stomach ached every time her saw her gasping for air, her head hung and teeth clenched in pain just out of sight, clearly thinking that no one was looking at her. And the emotionless mask she fitted every time she entered the arena. Dean leaned forward in his place, sure beyond a doubt that her eyes were blank, lifeless, and edged with suppressed tears of pain.

Dean felt dizzy, even nauseated by the blur of controlled chaos. He hadn't been over stimulated since he was thirteen, he didn't recognize the signs. His head actually spinning, Dean shut his eyes and dipped his head, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

He jumped when Valentine licked his hands. Dean sighed and relaxed, scratching the albino's ears and getting a hold of himself.

"Dean are you alright?" Sam asked from next to him. The younger Winchester sounded hoarse, probably from well over two hours of screaming and cheering.

"What?"

"You've been really quiet. And you're kind of pale-"

"I'm fine." Dean lied, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to relax more. It helped when Valentine pressed closer into his leg and whined quietly; nudging his hand comfortingly. Sam quieted and turned his eyes back to the ring as the crowd applauded a man on a painted horse as they walked out of the ring.

"What are we on?" Dean asked, tiredly.

"Last individuals event, bulldogging." Sam filled his chest with air and rolled his shoulders back. "Red's up in another two runs then she's done. All team stuff after this."

"Thank god. Maybe she can take it easy." Dean looked down at his watch, jerking slightly in surprise at the time. "They've been at it for seven and a half hours! It's eight thirty."

"What? It's practically pitch dark out." Sam looked around, blinking into the darkness and getting lost looking at the brightest pin pricks of stars.

"How can they take this abuse?" Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "No wonder Celia said she was too old for this stuff. What's bulldogging, anyway?" Dean asked.

"They chase a steer out into the ring, then jump off the horse onto the cow and slam the steer into the ground and hold it down until the judge says let him up, its like a eight or ten second wait." Sam blinked back to look at Dean, shifting stiffly. The younger Winchester stretched as far as he could, twisting and straining his muscles and joints until Dean heard several pops and cracks and Sam settled back into his place. The brothers turned their distracted attention to the ring as a male rider crashed out into the ring hurtling after a brown calf on a black mare and in a cloud of dust and grit physically tackled the animal and plowed it into the ground. But his hold didn't take and the calf kicked him hard in the gut and broke away. The cowboy scrambled painfully to his feet and was helped out of the ring by one of the rodeo clowns to a sympathetic round of applause.

Sam and Dean's eye followed the man's back.

"They've all limped out of the ring." Sam muttered.

"Celia's already hurt…" Dean tensed like a steel coil and wrung his hands as he waited impatiently through another competitor's run, then stiffened as Celia and Ceasefire set up next tot the cattle chute next to a large spotted calf. The calf mawed loudly, shaking nervously behind the pipe fencing. Ceasefire pinned his ears, lunging forward a step, pawed at the earth and nudged his nose towards the drop rope. Their time would start as soon as it fell to the earth.

For the first in a long time Dean hoped there was some higher power out there listening and he silently begged for mercy for Celia's sake.

"Please…don't get hurt…" Dean muttered under his breath. He got a look from Sam from the side but the younger Winchester said nothing.

Dean's heart stopped when the chute opened with a bang and the drop rope fell. Ceasefire exploded after the spotted calf, closing the few seconds difference in time and distance in a heart beat. The blue roan appaloosa dwarfed the calf, baring down on the smaller animal, lips drawn back and teeth grinding around the silver bit, ears pinned flat and it looked for all the world that Ceasefire wanted to crush the calf under hi hooves. Celia was clearly pulling back on the reins just enough to keep the stud from bowling the calf over physically.

Dean's teeth ground hard together as the blue roan stud crashed up along side the calf, pressing in hard and close and in a blur of red and a flash of silver in the sunlight Celia dropped off the stud's back onto the calf.

The spotted animal let out an audible gasp, a terrified croak of a moo and a cloud of dust blurred Dean's view for a few seconds. He made out Celia slide into the dust as Ceasefire galloped a few strides passed before skidding to stop and standing still, waiting to be called like he was trained to do.

Celia wrenched the calf around, it's cries of fear dying suddenly into silence. The dust settled enough for the crowd to see the results.

Celia was planted into the earth of the arena, her right and left knees twisted oddly with the spotted calf stretched across her lap. Celia bent one of the calf's fore legs up under it's chest, her other hand was stretched across the calf's shoulder and neck, hooking under the jaw and pinning the calf's head to her chest and shoulder.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, counting to ten and the official waved at Celia.

The red eyed woman instantly released the calf, pushing it off her lap. The young steer mawed loudly before galloping back the way it'd come and as far away from Celia as fast as it could go.

Dean felt Sam relax as Celia's score was called over the loud speaker, Sam clapped loudly and pounded Dean once on the shoulder, telling his elder brother that Celia was top rank.

Dean's eyes and attention where locked on Celia. She waved to the crowd once as she took first place in bulldogging, then made a single attempt to get to her feet. Halfway through the push her face contorted in pain, she gave and odd violent shake and eased back down to where she was kneeling in the dirt.

"Damnit!" Dean was up in a heart beat, rushing towards the steps of the stands.

"Dean?!" Sam grabbed the two leashed dogs and scrambled after his brother, Buckshot and Valentine snorted irritably but followed. "Dean stop!"

The elder Winchester's eyes were fixed on Celia. She was hiding her struggle really well, sitting and acting like the wind had just been knocked out of her. A rodeo clown led Ceasefire over and held out his hand to help her. Celia waved him off and forced herself up to her feet. Dean was practically sprinting around the outer edge of the arena.

"DEAN!" Sam tore up, cutting in front of his elder brother and stopping him in his tracks.

"Sam, she's hurt." Deana spat, growling and throwing a look out into the ring next to him. Celia was holding onto Ceasefire's reins and rope halter. She must have looked absolutely fine to the crowd, but Dean saw the hidden limp, the white knuckle grip, the locked jaw. He could even see her shivering.

"Dean-"

"Sam. Either help me or get out of the way. Look at her and tell me she's not about to collapse." Dean growled. Sam looked into the ring and took a single deep breath.

"Lets go." Sam motioned, he and Dean took off at a run with the two German Shepherds on their heels. They ducked fences and around other riders and horses, spotted Honeycatcher. The stud looked miserable, head hung and ears back, he groaned but perked and nickered happily at seeing the brothers. Sam slowed at the horse's shoulder but Dean tore on, heading straight for the gate into the arena where Celia was walking out. She glanced up, eyes blank with pain. She held up her hand, stopping Dean dead in his tracks, he shifted his weight waiting impatiently until she walked right up to him. Sam was at his shoulder when Celia stopped moving, barely a foot and a half away from Dean and looked up at the elder brother.

"Sammy…" Celia's voice cracked and she swallowed thickly, coughing to clear it. "Sammy will ya go take my horses back to the stalls? Please?"

Sam tensed, "Red-"

She looked at him deadly, so emotionless Sam nodded, reached forward and took the reins from her hand and led Ceasefire over to Honeycatcher. The younger Winchester looked back at Dean expectantly, got a nod in return and then turned and led the two horses and two dogs away.

Dean moved lightly towards Celia and she held up her hand.

"Wait." She ordered, Dean grit his teeth but followed her eyes. They were locked on his little brother.

"Celia-"

"Not in front of Sammy. Wait." Celia commanded.

She remained still and standing, waiting until Sam was out of eyesight. Then a wet gasp escaped her lips and she collapsed. Dean swept her into his chest, easing her down to sit before she could fall and held tightly onto her frame. Celia sobbed roughly, choking on her breath.

"Hey!"

Dean glanced up as a rush of bystanders quickly became a small team of saviors.

A rodeo clown that had been talking to a cowboy in a blue button down and dark jeans that Dean dimly remembered riding a bull earlier that afternoon. Both rushed over, the former calling sharply over his shoulder.

"Hey! Jimmy! Little help!" The clown shouted and Dean glanced around to see a young man that looked more like a young soldier duck under a fence and rushed forward, he was in a Sheridan tee shirt and pale jeans, a red medic bag was slung across the man's chest and he was wired with an ear piece and radio. He pulled the radio from his hip and was talking over it as he sprinted towards them.

The clown and bull rider crouched on Celia's other side and Dean clung to her frame tighter on her left side, almost possessively.

"Help her down." The bull rider ground out in a rough, thick voice and supported Celia's other shoulder and forcing Dean to help guide Celia to lie on her back in the dirt. The red eyed rancher wrapped her hand tightly into Dean's shirt, white knuckled grip. Dean pried it from the fabric and wrapped it tightly in his hand, weaving her finger with his.

"Do you give me permission to treat ya?" The medic, Jimmy, asked as he dropped down next to them, slinging off his pack and whipping out a pen light.

"Whatever…" Celia growled.

"What happened?" Jimmy continued, struggling to keep from poking Celia inn the eye as she tried to jerk away from him.

"Red?" The clown asked as Celia broke into a fit of coughing, trying to pull away as Jimmy pulled back her eyelids and shone the light in her eyes.

"I took the slide to hard, Malcolm." Celia coughed, swatting at the medic.

"On the dog?" Malcolm the clown asked, resting a hand lightly on her right shoulder. Dean bristled eyeing the painted face like it was dangerous.

"Yeah." Celia muttered and started to push herself up. "I'm fine…"

"Like hell." Malcolm growled.

"Back off Malcolm." Celia snapped, shoving the clown's hands. Dean recognized the sudden turn towards hostility.

"Count backwards from ten for me, Red." Jimmy ordered, setting the pen light a side and gleaning her nme from the clown.

"Go to hell." Celia spat.

"Celia." Dean's voice cut into the beginning of the fight. The red eyed woman felt the grip on her hand tighten sharply. She let out a sigh, giving him a look.

"Tennineeightsevensixfivefourthreetwoone." She rambled off, "My head's fine, just gotta get my wind."

"Any pains?" Jimmy asked, taking a second to chatter something over the radio then turned his attention back.

Dean bit his tongue and looked to Celia for instruction.

"My knee, Jimmy." Celia admitted. Dean squeezed her hand tightly.

"Left or right?" Jimmy asked, already running his hands lightly over her right knee.

"Left."

Her hand tightened on Dean's and she shivered slightly as the medic ran his hands over the left knee. He looked concerned and ran his hands over the joint again. Dean was starting to get nervous, he could feel the eyes of spectators looking on and whispering quietly to each other.

Still frowning Jimmy ran his hands back up the left knee a third time.

"I can't feel any breakage or dislocation but there's a lot of swellin' here. Ain't no way ya don't feel the pain, Red." Jimmy continued, "How long as it been under stress?"

"Just give me somethin' to kill it already." Celia spat ill temperedly and avoiding the question.

Jimmy's teeth grit tightly.

"Red, ya be quiet and let the boy do his job." Malcolm growled. "She was in the western classes earlier today."

"Been a good twelve hours at least then…" Jimmy rummaged into his medic's kit and extracted two glass bottles, a syringe and two packaged needles. "Red, I'm gonna give ya a dose of an anti-inflammatory and a shot of morphine."

Jimmy lifted the bottle of anti-inflammatory, fitted a needle into the syringe and drew a does from the brownish liquid. He absently swiped the inside of her left arm with an alcohol pad.

"God, not morphine. Hey!" Celia almost jerked her arm as Jimmy slid the needle home into the inside of her elbow and depressed the liquid into her vein. Dean saved her from snapping the needle off in her arm, catching her wrist and holding her arm still as Jimmy pulled the needle back out.

Celia bared her teeth at the medic, actually hissing, the same noise that Dean had grown accustomed to hearing coming from her when she was upset. A mountain lion's hiss. Jimmy looked startled jerking back and away from her.

"Relax, Jim, that's just Red's way." Malcolm assured. "Just an old puma, but she don't bite."

Jimmy looked less than sure but snapped the spent needle off the syringe, wrapping it back into its package, slipped the second needle into place and drew the correct amount of morphine from the second glass bottle. His eyes kept flashing to Celia; he got a low animalistic growl in response. Dean tightened his grip on Celia's hand and wrist, holding her still and giving Jimmy a look that clearly stated he better act fast. The young medic started for Celia again and she jerked back like a nervous animal, grinding her teeth and starting a hiss again but she quieted herself when Dean gave her a warning squeeze and half shake.

"Celia." Dean whispered.

"Not morphine." She growled out.

"Are ya allergic?" Jimmy asked, hesitating and holding the syringe up and away from her. Dean felt her muscles relax a little now that the morphine was in a less threatening position.

"No. But that shit knocks me out, cain't even function." Celia hissed.

The medic rolled his eyes. "That's what its supposed to do, Red." He started for her again and Celia jerked back again, scrambling, suppressing a yelp of pain as her knee moved and she pressed herself closer to Dean. The elder Winchester shot the medic a look to hold on a second then dipped his head down to her ear, arching his back to reach her.

"Celia, it'll help." He soothed, messaging her hand in his.

"No." She growled back.

"Celia-"

"I can't take car of myself on that shit." Celia hissed.

Dean's stomach turned in understanding. She was like him, hated hospitals for the same reason he did. The shear lack of control over herself or her environment. Dean sympathized and under other condition he would have gone with her on the whole thing, probably would have chased Jimmy away himself. But she was in a serious amount of pain, shivering almost violently.

"Celia, please, take the dose and I'll watch out for you, alright?"

Celia blinked at him, her eyes narrowing, searching his face for any kind of treachery.

"I swear." Dean assured.

Celia eyed him up and down, then lifted her head towards him and sniffed once, as if she was scenting him. Dean blinked trying to process what she'd just done.

"Alright." Celia muttered and held out her left arm towards the medic. Jimmy didn't waste any time and slid the needle into a vein, depressed and pulled the sliver of steel back out of her arm.

"That ought to hold ya over, Red." Jimmy assured, wrapping the needle up and disposing of every thing in a small white and red plastic bag, tucking his kit back together. "Ice and elevate, should be fine in a few days if ya take it easy."

"Sure." Celia mumbled. Dean glanced down, whatever dosage of morphine the medic had given her was acting fast. Her eyes were already starting to glaze over; her breathing was tightening and becoming more shallow than natural. Her shivering was already starting to subside. Dean shifted her frame around and took on more of her weight as it started to deaden.

"I'll take her to her truck to sleep it off." Dean said.

"Need any help?" the bull rider started to move to lift Celia's weight with Dean. The elder Winchester restrained a reaction to growl at him.

"Thanks but I've got her." Dean swiftly shifted Celia around and lifted her bridal style into his arms, pressed into his chest. She didn't try and grip his shirt or neck for support. Her head rolled a little, hat shifting as she slumped limply against Dean's shoulder and chest, her arms hung limply across her stomach and towards the ground. "Thanks for the help."

The spectators had broken up for the most part, going about their business after the spurt of excitement.

"Anythin' for one ours." Jimmy assured until he froze, listening to his ear piece. In a blur and with out another word he was on his feet and sprinting away. Malcolm the clown and the bull rider shook their heads.

"Must be somethin' bad." The bull rider growled.

Dean nodded and started to move away, the movement seemed to rouse Celia, her eyes snapped opened blearily and she put up a small struggle.

"No…" She started to push away from Dean.

"Celia, calm down. I'm taking you back to the truck." Dean assured, pressing into her that he was keeping his promise.

"No…not yet…I got…"

"No, Celia, you're done." Dean started walking again.

"Actually-"

Dean stopped and half turned to look over his shoulder at the clown and bull rider.

"What?" Dean retrained a snap as Celia started to go dead weight in his arms again.

"Awards presentation in half an hour." The clown said, carefully trying not to step on Dean's toes. "She kind of has to be there. She's top rank."

"They can make an exception." Dean growled, clearly a warning.

"She's there or she forfeits." The bull rider said bluntly, turning and walking away. Dean sighed, his chest expanding and making Celia shift, her Stetson tipping again and Deana hoped it wouldn't fall. The elder Winchester had sworn to watch out for Celia while she couldn't. And if he walked away here, even if it was for her health, the promise was null. He couldn't walk, not after what she had suffered to get here.

"Half an hour?" Dean asked.

Malcolm the clown nodded.

"I need some place to sit."

"There's a couple hay bales." The clown motioned toward a small stack of an odd number of square hay bales.

Dean glared at the clown.

"Don't look at me like that." Malcolm growled, "That girl has probably had worse, the rancher that she is." He turned and started back towards the ring as another clown walked out to take a break in the middle of the team events.

Dean carried Celia over and carefully eased himself down. His back throbbed until he was sitting on the earth with his back against one of the bales. Celia blinked out of her stupor struggling away from him then dropped back into her drugged state, half curled up next to him with her head on his lap, the side of her face turned and a cheek pressed into his stomach. She twitched every few seconds, the only real movement from her.

"That stuff moves fast." Dean muttered digging into his pocket and extracting his cell, he draped and arm protectively across Celia's collar bone, below her throat like a living necklace and used one hand to send a text message to Sam.

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**Whoo! Read and review! Thanks! **


	25. A Step Behind

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! **

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: A Step Behind**

**"Chase after truth like hell and you'll free yourself, even though you'll never touch it's coat-tails..."**

**-Clarance Darrow**

**…**

Sam hefted the saddles into the truck bed. He went back for the sweaty saddle pads and decided against doing anything but propping them upside down against the wheel of the truck. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back, tugged off the Stetson and tried to run his hand through his hair, startled to find restriction then remembered the French bid his hair was in. He ran his fingers lightly over the ribs of the braid before struggling and releasing it from the weaving.

Then he turned back to the horses walking up between Ceasefire and Honeycatcher. The blonde stud's head was drooped low, ears slung out and every few minuets he groaned miserably.

Sam's eyebrows knitted in concern.

"Hey buddy, what's the matter?" Sam asked, running a slim hand along the cremello's shoulder.

Honeycatcher's head swung around, ears pinned and he groaned again, a sick, queasy sound.

Sam looked around at the other animals for help. The merle collie Alamo sitting a few yards behind him, Ceasefire close on his left side, Topmoon Goldfinch and Cottoneye Cloud in the stalls in front of him. Honeycatcher continued to groan and pine miserably.

Sam experimentally ran his hands over the cremello's sides, unsure what he was looking for but hoping that something would simply leap out at him. Sam felt the slow churning and grinding of the massive gut, the thudding of the heart and the stretch and fall of the lungs in breath.

"C'mon big guy, give me something…"

Sam's hands roved over the cremello's body, searching for anything, the single thing that would tell him why the stud seemed in pain. It remained illusive. He sighed turning and putting Ceasefire into the stall with the buckskin appaloosa filly. Then he turned back and looked at Honeycatcher, hoping somewhere in himself that the last few seconds with his back turned the horse's ailment would have exploded into obviousness.

Sam sighed and reached out to gently scratch the blonde horse's jaw. Honeycatcher gave a painful groan, hiking his head up draped it over Sam's shoulder. Sam sagged a little under the weight but found it natural to wrap his arms comfortingly around the stud's neck. Sam could literally feel the pure sorrow pouring out of the horse, he felt the large frame shiver and the sickly sounds rippling out of his throat and gut.

Sam couldn't place where he had ever seen behavior like this.

Loss.

It slammed into the younger Winchester violently. The horse was grieving. It was the only thing that made sense, the groans and sighs of pain, the depressive, sick behavior, a need for physical contact, Sam had seen them all before in people that he and his brother had interviewed and manipulated for information, treading recklessly on the sacred grieving period of countless mothers, fathers, brothers, sister and friends.

Honeycatcher was suffering a loss. Sam buried his face into Honeycatcher's neck, where the jaw connected with the throat and held tighter to the animal.

Sam personally didn't know why he did this, trying to comfort the horse. Maybe he was trying to make up for when he couldn't take the time to comfort those grieving and unwitting informants. Maybe he was taking a minuet for himself, letting Jessica's image drift back to him, his mind brushed lightly over her cracked and fading image, he didn't realize that the ache was slowly beginning to subside, others pushing into the once exclusive space. Their father, all the ones Sam couldn't save, Madison.

Sam let out a shaky breath before patting Honeycatcher on the jaw and turned the blonde horse into the stall with Cottoneye Cloud. Sam shook himself and turned back to the truck, he patted the merle collie Alamo lightly between the ears as he went.

Sam rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling the weight of his adopted clothing and stripped off the brown leather chaps, folding them neatly and walking over to the truck, pulling open the passenger seat and tossing them inside.

He stiffened, sitting not three inches away from his hand as Nathaniel Greer's journal. Celia must have only just tossed it inside. Sam's teeth ground together, bouncing on the balls of his feet he reached out and brushed his fingers over the rough, worn suede cover.

He half expected some kind reaction. There was none and very gingerly Sam lifted the outer cover then stopped and dropped it back into place. If he wanted to look at it he could cask Celia, he doubted that she would deny him the request. Sam sighed.

The Treo squealed to life, drawing all his attention. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the lit screen. A text message from Dean. Sam's eyes drifted over it for a few seconds. Then his heart lurched almost painfully.

"Are they insane!?" Sam snapped the door shut and took off at a jog back towards the rodeo ring, Alamo, Buckshot and Valentine looking after him.

…

Dean continued to stroke the far side of Celia's throat. After the third miniature 'night terror' and Dean receiving Celia's nails like a set of claws into his chest and side Dean only wanted her to stay calm in her drugged sleep. The elder Winchester understood why Celia hated morphine now. She literally couldn't control herself physically and evidently mentally.

The first fit had scared him. Celia lashed out in her sleep, jerking so violently and catching Dean across the jaw. The noise that had come from her throat as unnatural as they got, a strangled noise between a scream and a moan. Then it was over.

The second fit, about ten minuets after the first, Celia had turned into his support, buried her face into his stomach, teeth clenched and panting in pain. Her whole frame shook, curling up as tightly as she could into Dean's hip and side and her nails again dug into his skin. The whimper into his stomach had been pitiful, unnerving. Dean had passed his hand over her throat in comfort. She soothed and relaxed at the touch.

After that he braced, waiting and begging Sam to hurry.

The third one had been less violent, less distressing, if someone could call it that. Shivering almost violently, and Dean again got the worst side of her nails and she's muttered and mumbled incoherently into his shirt. At least he'd been somewhat prepared for it and blocked out the strips of flare of pain and acted swiftly to curb the behavior. The light passes of his hand didn't stop after that, he even toyed with the silver necklace, running his fingers over the carefully made silver skulls.

Dean's legs were starting to go numb, his back ached but he stayed still. With a sigh, Dean shifted again and looked around for Sam.

Inwardly the elder Winchester continued to fuss, snarling curses and a hundred better, smarter, more constructive things that he could be doing at that moment.

But he stayed at Celia's side, staying true to his word.

"Finally."

Dean spied Sam's mop of brown hair jogging around towards them. Sam slowed, skidding a little into a walk and panted slightly. The younger Winchester lifted his hands in question then let them drop back to his hips.

"What happened?" Sam barked.

"Medic gave her some morphine." Dean sighed, continuing to pet her throat.

"What the hell are you still here for?" Sam practically accused his elder sibling.

"If she's not at awards she forfeits." Dean growled, "After all this shit today I don't think she'd appreciate it all being for nothing."

Sam sighed, his head falling back and he muttered something to the sky, the words too quiet for Dean to hear. The elder Winchester git his teeth to keep from snapping.

"How much longer?" Sam asked. Dean dug for his cell and glanced at the time.

"Five minuets." He muttered.

"Sam."

The brothers glanced up, Luke and Lynn, the Sheridan twins were walking towards them. They looked harried but calmer.

"Hey Lynn." Sam greeted, reaching out and taking her hand. The small woman motioned towards Celia.

"What the hell's wrong with her?" Lynn asked sharply.

"She's sedated." Sam offered.

"Morphine." Dean finished.

"Damn." Luke muttered, stalking a step forward and snapped his fingers in front of Celia's face, he got no response from her but an angry snarl from Dean.

"Are ya tellin' me that she's drugged!?!" Lynn practically wailed, making the three men look up startled at her. "Please don't tell me that!?!"

"She was in serious pain." Dean snapped in defense. "It was either drugs or she passed out from it."

Lynn made a frustrated noise that told Dean and Sam that it was clear that the woman could have cared less.

"I can't fuckin' believe this. Well goddamn see if ya can wake her up." Lynn stormed away. Luke looked apologetically between the brothers.

"Don't let her fool ya boys-"

"What that she really does care?" Dean snapped. Luke shook his dark haired head and set his hands on his hips.

"Naw, she really is a bitch." Luke gave them a crooked grin, then motioned towards Celia, "Ya boys need any help with her?"

"No, we got it." Dean assured, deciding that he liked the male twin over the female any day. Luke nodded, starting back towards the ring.

"Alright, all she has to do is stand there and look pretty, shake a couple hands and she's done. Sam, ya can carry the saddle and ya can get her."

Luke motioned towards Celia and turned and trotted off to the ring as the Reverend Jessee started making announcements about the awards as top rankers started making their ways out into the ring.

"Carry the saddle?" Dean asked.

"I guess she beat out Shakes." Sam muttered, then started around to stand over Celia.

"C'mon Red." He nudged her shoulder and Dean tapped the side of Celia's throat.

The red eyed woman stirred after a few attempts and muttered incoherently. She tried to shake Sam off. The younger Winchester grabbed one of Celia's arms and pulled it up across his shoulders and hauled Celia up. She stumbled, instinct snapping in to try and right her balance but she slumped heavily against Sam's frame. Dean pushed himself up and dusted off the dark colored jeans while Sam tried to right the red eyed woman. Celia's head lolled back, slackly, her Stetson starting to fall and Dean snapped into action, pushing Celia's skull back up right and settled the black Stetson back into place. Celia's head tipped forward to her chin. She muttered incoherently and suddenly pushed herself away from Sam, stumbling but staying on her feet. She shook her head violently, rubbing her eyes. Both brothers stood back giving her a second but proved their readiness to react when she took a side step, wavered and threatened to collapse. Dean caught her arm and pushed back on her weight.

" 'M fine…" She growled and yanked her arm away from him. Her speech was slurred, cottony and dulled. "What goin'…whats?"

"Awards." Dean said simply.

Celia grunted and her nose crinkled, she blinked her eyes awake widening them unnaturally and rolling her jaw. She rubbed a hand over her face, scrubbing her nose and eyes.

"Shit." She snapped, shaking as much of the drug off as she could and started dizzily for the ring. Dean and Sam fell into step with her, flanking her on each side. She stopped and wavered at the gate of the ring when Luke, in the middle of the dirt arena noticed them and lifted his hand.

Celia swayed in place, shrugging off the brothers when they tried to steady her. She was clearly in a very foul mood. Baring her teeth at both brothers and starting to the ring when Reverend Jessee called her name and the crowd exploded in applause and cheers.

"She's being a complete bitch." Sam muttered under his breath as they started after her.

"Yeah." Dean responded, not bothering to even try and defend Celia's behavior. They stepped up to her sides and stood flanked like bodyguards, over shadowing her small frame with their height and waited patiently while the small string of judges and Reverend Jessee rambled off her accomplishments and broken records that day and received ugly looks from Shakes at the end of the line of top rankers. The crowds cheers seemed to get louder and louder, Celia faked a smile, her eyes glazed and dull. Dean and Sam followed suit, plastering their faces with grins and waited patiently. None of the three were really listening. Celia trying to clear her head, Dean occupied with making sure Celia didn't pitch over and Sam's thoughts were locked around Honeycatcher suffering back by the truck.

They didn't really registered as the head judge, smallish young woman with her hair tied up in a pony tail and dressed in a fringed, red and black sequined shirt, handed Celia a white envelope, a silver and gold belt buckle, two paper certificates and motioned for two wide shoulder volunteers to step forward.

Between the volunteers, they carried a portable saddle stand laden heavily with an ornate dark leathered and silver inlayed stock saddle and bridle set and set it between Celia and the judge. There were flashes of photographs and shaken hands and rounds of applause, whoops and hollers.

Dean just kept thanking what ever powers there were that it was over. Finally they could get back to the job.

…

"Do we have to stay for this stupid party thing?" Dean snarled nudging the gear tub out of the way and stepping further into the truck bed. Celia rolled her eyes heavenward and earned a small glance from Sam. The two brothers maneuvering and rearranging gear to fit the trophy saddle into the bed with the others.

"No Dean, we don't have to." Celia ground out, the elder Winchester looked down at her.

"When you say it like that it sounds like you do want to go."

"I never said I _didn't _want to go." Celia sighed, her foul mood and patience corroding away at her to a point that her red eyes were starting to fleck black again.

"Then we have to go." Dean grumbled.

"_Ya don't have to go._" Celia growled, climbing up on the wheel to pry open a plastic tub that had become clogged with the awards and prizes of the day, she was carefully maneuvering the painted plates.

"Yes we do." Dean huffed.

"_NO YA DON'T!" _Celia barked, her brittle patience snapping and she threw one of the porcelain plates into the earth, it smashed with a rattle of ceramic. Dean dropped his end of the saddle and it landed loudly and awkwardly on the truck bed. The brothers stared at her in mild shock. She even looked a little startled herself at the outburst. She blinked, looking at Dean like he was a whole new animal.

"I need a minuet." She muttered, shoving the envelope and certificates into Dean's hands and dropped off the side of the truck, Dean and Sam watched her shape move around the front of the truck and pull open the diver side door open, then practically crawled into the seat. The brothers looked at each other, unsure what to do, they settled the saddle and the rest of the gear as close to the same way they had earlier that day, Dean settling the rest of Celia's cache of Rodeo Queen into the container but hesitated. None of the white envelopes that had been acquired over the day were there. Dean fingered the last one with Celia's name scrawled in pen across the back. With a sigh he climbed down and walked around the driver's side.

The door was open and Celia was literally curled up in the seat, on her side with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms hugging her shoulders. The red eyed woman had finally pulled off her hat and the band out of her hair, letting it fall across her face and throat. Her boots were dropped on the earth and Dean had to step over them to get closer, white socks slightly dirt streaked. She was practically in a fetal position.

"Celia?" Dean asked, he felt a spark of concern bubbled low in his chest and he rested a hand lightly on her calve.

"What?" She muttered into the seat cushion.

"Are y-" Dean caught the question and bit it back. He swallowed and started again. "What do you want me to do with the envelope?"

Celia's eyes opened and she heavily lifted her head to look at him. Dean held it up for her to see.

"Keep it." She muttered and dropped her head back and shut her eyes again. Dean blinked.

"What?" He asked.

"Ya can have it. Keep it." Celia muttered, sounding half asleep. "I don't want it…"

Dean looked down at the white envelope. He carefully slit it open and blinked, leafing through the contents.

"Celia, this is fifteen hundred dollars." Dean looked back up at her.

"Buy…yerself somethin' pretty…" Celia mumbled.

"I can't take this." Dean pressed.

"…then give it to Sammy…" Celia muttered, she pried one of her arms from across her chest and dug her hand into her pocket, with a small struggle she extracted her keys and blindly fumbled to slip them into the ignition. She turned the key backwards, cranking on the engine to feed off the battery and then reached to the radio, she fiddled and struggled until she found a country radio station and turned the music up just loud enough that someone walking directly passed the door would be able to hear the tones and lyrics.

She let out a sickly sigh, wrapped her arm back into the warmth of her curled up frame and went still.

Dean shifted, when she didn't speak or move other than shallow rise and fall of her chest he stepped back and walked around to Sam he held out the opened envelope. Sam looked down at it, took it then looked questioningly at Dean.

"What?"

"Celia gave it to me, I said no, so she said give it to you." Dean explained.

"All these letters are full of money?" Sam asked already walking towards the truck, he opened the passenger seat and flipped open the glove compartment, shooting a glance at Celia and in a few seconds extracted out all the envelopes marked 'Sam Wilson' and the two labeled 'Dean Wilson'. He shut the glove box with a look at Nathaniel's journal, then shut the door, he stepped back and slipped out a pocket knife, in a few seconds he'd slit open each white envelope and totaled the winnings.

"Dean, without the fifteen there's already eleven hundred here." Sam growled. Dean snatched the stack of cash out of Sam's hands and in a blur counted it.

The elder blinked and counted it again.

"For walking around in circles?" Dean muttered, "We're in the wrong business."

Sam took the envelope with fifteen hundred in it and pulled open the passenger door again.

"Red, we're not taking this prize money." Sam said over the music, setting the letter on top of the suede leather journal.

There was no response.

"Red?" Sam leaned forward, into the cab, then dropped back to the earth. "I think she's asleep."

"Good."

Sam looked a little startled and raised his eyebrows in question.

"She's been a bitch since she woke up." Dean said truthfully, reaching passed Sam into the bed and pulled out his own boots. He crossed over and dropped into one of the folding chairs, struggling off the cowboy boots and pulling on his work boots, lacing them up and moving his toes comfortably in the familiar space.

"Think it's because of the morphine still in her system?" Sam asked. "…Or the demon?"

Dean shrugged, jerking his head and lifting his eyebrows for a second, "That and she's exhausted, probably miserable, too."

Sam cocked his eyebrows at him. Dean shrugged looking a little defensive.

"What? People get tired."

"_People?_ You just said that you think it's the demon."

"The demon's _in_ the person, Sam." Dean sighed and rubbed a hand lightly over Valentine's ears as he passed the dog. Then he reached over the arm and dug into the cooler of food, his stomach rumbled hungrily as the elder Winchester rooted out a square shape wrapped in wax paper. Curious Dean unwrapped the wax and grinned madly at a thick meat sandwich slathered with barbeque sauce. He sniffed once and bit off a mouthful. Sam rolled his eyes at him and reached into the cooler himself, extracting a similar wax paper package and tore into it.

"You feeling better?" Sam asked suspiciously, after sitting in the chair across from his brother tapping his foot silently to the muffled music coming from the truck.

"Yeah, I'm starving though." Dean snorted, trying to force himself to keep from wolfing down the sandwich which he couldn't place what kind of meat it was. It was somewhat beefy but had a smoky , musky taste to it. Not all together unpleasant.

"You haven't really eaten anything in the last three days." Sam said, reached into the other cooler and extracting two Lagers and passed one to Dean. The elder Winchester flinched a little as he twisted the cap off and took a small draw from the bottle. He winced further, blinking and twitching his nose.

"Medicine and poison." Dean huffed out and took a breath to settle his churning stomach before setting back onto the sandwich.

Sam eyed his elder brother, watching as he stretched, reaching over his head and chew on his sandwich and nursed the Lager.

"Did you call Bobby yet?" Dean asked suddenly, watching the backs of a couple of girls in jeans and sequined shirts and fake Stetson hats. Sam blinked at Dean for a second.

"No." Sam muttered, looking down into his beer.

"Sam-" Dean started in on his 'big brother' tone.

"Here we go." Sam muttered. Dean bristled.

"What the hell does that mean?" The elder Winchester snapped.

"It means you're barely back on your feet and you're going to start acting like a jerk again." Sam rolled his head around to look at Dean. The elder raised his eyebrows.

"If acting like a jerk means getting the job done then yeah."

"What job?! There isn't a job here." Sam growled. "Nothing strange-"

"Nothing strange as in we have no memory of an entire life here with a family and their adopted daughter who happens to be possessed by a bad ass demon and has horns growing out of her head? Nothing strange as the fires and animal mutilations that are all centered around Blackriver Pass twenty-five out of Tuscarora? Nothing strange as in psychotic wolves and coyotes and horses-"

"ALRIGHT! Alright, I get it." Sam barked and Dean looked casually satisfied.

"When…"

Sam turned his attention to Dean as the elder sibling took a short draw from the Lager.

"When I was e-mailing her, Thursday night, she mentioned that she had a good idea what was causing the fires." Dean said absently. Sam perked his eyebrows and waited, trying to fight the urge to push Dean to keep talking. Dean didn't continue, his eyes glazed over in thought.

"She knows a lot about the region, local folk lore and spirit regulars…like Kaneonuskatwe." Sam shuddered around the name. "She was practically raised in it, even though she was adopted. Which is unusual but I think the Greers are Native American, too, so the change wasn't really drastic. Just a different tribe."

"Yeah…" Dean muttered, finishing off the sandwich and sighing heavily before forcing himself up out of the chair and walking towards the truck.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm going to try something." Dean muttered and waved Sam to follow him. With a quirked eyebrow Sam unfolded his lanky frame and walked after his elder. Dean signaled for Sam to move to the passenger side as Dean stepped around to the driver's side. The elder motioned Sam up into the seat and he himself climbed up a little, gripping the handle on the inside off the door and leaned over Celia's curled up frame. He reached over and turned the music down a little lower.

Celia shifted and mumbled.

"Celia?" Dean asked, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered slightly then settled, he bit his lower lip then reached up and brushed his fingertips over the ridges of Celia's horn. He watched as a small smile played on her face and a low vibration started in her throat.

"Celia?" Dean coaxed, making his own voice purr as much as possible.

"Mmm…yeah?" She muttered, practically talking in her sleep. Dean shot Sam a triumphant look.

"Hey Celia, what's causing the fires?"

Her face scrunched a little but Dean kept stroking her horn, the lines faded from her face.

"Figure…" She muttered, "…figure it's the Birds…"

Dean's eyebrows knit together. "The Birds?"

Sam watched fascinated, Dean coaxing and drawing out information from the sleeping woman.

"… pissed…hate ponies…"

Dean glanced at Sam.

"What Birds, Celia?" Dean asked quietly, shifting to rest his knee on the cushion.

Celia muttered something intelligible and shifted, stretching in an odd way and cruving her spine before slumping back into her position again.

"Celia?"

"…yeah?" She muttered.

"What Birds?"

"The nest…nest outta Blackriver…their territory…" Her unintelligible speech muttered on for a few seconds and the only thing the brothers caught was 'Kaneonuskatwe' and 'bastard'.

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward but his younger sibling was listening intently.

"Why are the Birds setting fire to the plains?" Sam quizzed. "What's the point?"

Celia shifted again, said nothing only twisted her muscles.

"Celia?" Sam pressed, he reached out boldly, lighting his fingers on the horn next to Dean's.

"…hate ponies…" She said again, her eyes fluttered a little and Sam lifted his hand from the horn. Celia's brow crinkled and she tucked her head down towards her chest, as if trying to curl up tighter.

"What if it's not the Birds?" Dean pressed, looking for a little more.

"…I don't know…"

Sam shrugged a little and startled to slid out of the truck but Dean briefly rested his palm over the rippled surface of the horn, as if testing to see if its real, he actually gave a slight tug, jerking Celia's head a little.

"Dean." Sam growled warningly. At the same time Celia yanked her head back, letting out a sharp noise that sounded something like a growl, blinking her eyes a little and squinting at him. Dean froze, caught like a deer in the headlights.

"The fuck?" Celia muttered, her brow crinkled.

"Sorry," Dean said hurriedly, "I was trying to turn the radio station." Dean cringed and hoped desperately that the lie would land.

Celia blinked at him for a few seconds and rubbed a hand across her face, muttered something under her breath and dropped her head back to the cushion and curled up tightly. Dean sighed in relief and reached across to turn the radio back up, flipping the station to the blues one that they had listened to on the way down for good measure; then dropped out of the truck.

Sam practically lunged at him as he walked around the front of the truck.

"Dean, I thought you quit pulling girl's hair in the fifth grade." Sam growled, somewhere between a tease and a scold.

"I didn't pull her hair." Dean snapped in return then brushed off the whole matter. "What birds?"

Sam shrugged.

"Bet its in Nathaniel's journal…" the younger sibling muttered almost bitterly, he glanced back at the truck as he eased himself down into the folding chair.

"You think Nathaniel was a player?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up at his elder brother in confusion. "You don't?"

"She never said he was, just that he and Dad were buds. That doesn't make Nathaniel Greer a Hunter."

"Dad only hung around with Hunters, Dean. Bobby, Ellen and Bill Harville, Caleb, Pastor Jim all Hunters. Why would Greer be any different?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, returning to his almost forgotten Lager and nursing it all over again.

"You don't think Nathaniel Greer was a Hunter." Sam stated with a sigh,.

"I think he was a veteran working as a cop in small town America trying to raise his kids." Dean said calmly.

"With him being friends with Dad and raising Red. Red who, if I remember from what you said a few minuets ago is 'possessed by a bad ass demon and has horns growing out of her head'. Remember what Celia said about him dying?"

Dean stiffened.

"He was on a job by request of a psychic _and_ chasing a shapeshifter. Why else would a psychic ask to have Nathaniel specifically on the case if he didn't know how to handle it?"

"Well he obviously _didn't_ know how to handle it because he's dead." Dean spat, actually tasting the bitterness in his voice. Sam looked like had been slapped then hardened.

"You better sure as hell make sure Red doesn't hear you talk like that." Sam whispered out harshly. Dean snarled something under his breath, starting to walk away and trying to settle the rock of grief hardening in his gut. He ripped the Stetson hat off his head and tossed it hap haphazardly into one of the empty folding chairs.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I'm going for a walk!" Dean snapped and started away down the dirt track.

…

An hour later Dean was sure he'd thrown out his shoulder trying to kill a carnival game and the normal weight in his pocket a little lighter. He was somewhat relieved to find that most of the stalls were still operating. Thirty bucks had pretty much rented him the old fashioned milk bottle game as the operator didn't care much at the loss of his normal crowd of kids and sat back nursing a thick beer and chocolate milkshake and watched a Dean pounded out his frustration on the game.

He'd won several, Toys-R-Us quality stuffed horses, a couple balls, a Nevada state flag and was currently working on another stuffed animal. A mountain lion.

Dean could feel his shoulder throbbing, spike of pain rattling the joint. He was sweating and panting heavily, actually shivering with effort. He had practically been throwing balls nonstop for and hour. His ribs were actually starting to ache.

But Dean grit his teeth, eyes flicking to the tawny fur and green glass eyes.

He _needed_ that mountain lion.

His sweat slicked palm moved over the rough hide of the baseball, twisting his grip to a screw ball and took a breath lining up his target.

Dean heard a distinct pop as he pitched, the pain in his shoulder flared sharply and subsided at the sound of the milk bottles crashing down.

"'Nother good shot, boy." The operator mutter unenthusiastically.

"Just give me the damn lion." Dean snapped back.

The operator shrugged his shoulders and reached up, pulling down the mountain lion and stuffed it into the plastic sack with Dean's other prizes. Dean practically snatched the bag from the operator and turned. He went a few steps and looked around the grounds. It was practically dead, only a few individuals packing up their booths.

"Where is everybody?" Dean muttered.

"Barn party, boy. If they're from Elko county." The operator muttered behind him as he took down strings of prizes. Dean glared over his shoulder at him, then marched on his way back to the truck. He reached into the plastic bag and dug out the mountain lion.

It was also grade toy store quality, not the cheap toys that carnivals usually had to provide, the ones that cost the operators no more than a quarter a piece. The fur was short and smooth, an even tawny color and dark green glass eyes set into the shaped head. A faux leather nose and fishing line whiskers spouting from white cheeks.

Dean sniffed at the toy and shoved it back in with the other prizes. He'd have to ask Celia where the nearest church was, he'd drop the toys off as a donation.

Finally a good deed that didn't require killing something else or putting himself or Sam into danger. He trooped through the practically dead grounds. Well over half of the trailers and trucks and horses that had packed every available corner had left, nothing but depressions in the grass and spilled grain behind. Dean snarled a few well chosen curses at the sight of Shakes' trailer still parked with the massive tattoo design logo.

"How gay is a sparrow anyway." Dean muttered under his breath, shivering again inwardly at the creeping feeling his skin had gotten every time that Shakes' eyes had roamed over his frame.

He trudged up the slope around the permanent stable and spotted Celia's white Silverado. The camp had been entirely broken up, coolers of food and alcohol and folding chairs packed up and away into the bed and the Katana cover clipping place. Dean glanced around and noted only Alamo curled up protectively between the stall doors where the three studs and filly dozed quietly. Ceasefire perked his ears at Dean, blinking his eyes open and giving his head a little shake before nickering, calling the elder Winchester over.

Dean hesitated for a second before answering the called stepping over and setting the plastic bag of toys down and leaned heavily over the wood of the stall door. The elder Winchester held out his hand, palm up and open towards the stud. Ceasefire snuffed in his hand, blowing warm, moist breath across the bare skin.

Before Dean could get his hand away Ceasefire nipped his sharply across the wrist, biting the sensitive skin and jerking his head up and out of the way and Dean yanked his hand back.

"Goddamn horse!" Dean snapped, rubbing the bite, growling a few more curses as the skin darkened quickly into a bruise. Ceasefire seemed to grin back at him.

"He can be a bit nippy."

Dean twisted to watch Celia walk the rest of the way towards him; the elder Winchester said nothing, rubbing the bite.

Celia stopped a few feet off; she twitched, awkwardly stuffing her hands into her pocket. She looked exhausted, but Dean felt a deep seeded satisfaction that there was little of the limp in her step and she actually rested weight on the left joint. The black Stetson was rested back into place on her head, hiding her horns from sight. The black button down she'd been wearing was still in place, but the buttons around her throat had been undone far enough down that Dean could see the white tank top underneath. She hadn't put her boots back on, replacing them with a pair of ankle high hiking boots.

"Hey, Dean." She finally managed out, licking her lips.

"Hey." Dean returned, nonchalantly.

"I'm…sorry 'bout bein' a bitch earlier." She sighed out, her narrow chest collapsing as she spoke.

"Sure." Dean returned stiffly.

"Drugs and I just don't mix to well, Dean. They make it easier for…" She trailed off, then tried again, "The demon…"

Dean's eyes snapped up and locked on her, waiting. But again she let the sentence fall away again.

"…they make me act up, is all." Celia finally put out there and watched Dean's eyes drop from her frame, either in disappointment or hidden disbelief.

"So, I'm sorry." Celia shrugged her shoulders. "And thanks for puttin' up with me."

Dean's eyes flicked up again, studying her.

"Ya didn't have to but ya stuck with me and…and that means a lot to me. So thanks."

Dean kept his eyes on her, waiting, knowing somehow she wasn't finished.

"Yer a good man, Dean."

The elder Winchester felt his heart tighten and his chest puff slightly at the compliment. He didn't get thanks much or compliments unless the particular girl of the night learned something new from him. He was the kind of man that moved on sheer steam that he was helping someone and that was enough. He _would_ have made a great firefighter, or maybe a police officer or soldier if he'd taken the chance. Dean had the same values and drive that those places in society were designed and built off of.

But this thanks, and four little complimenting words was enough. He would be able to feed off the little reservoir that Celia had granted him for years if he needed to before he started feeling hopeless in the hunt again.

Dean nodded, staying quiet and his eyes flicked to the plastic bag of toys, he bent and reached in, pulling out the stuffed mountain lion. He fiddled with it for a second before holding it out to her.

"Here, I won it." Dean muttered, his head ducked in slight embarrassment at the cliché of it all. At least he hadn't won it _for_ her...right?

She accepted the stuffed animal out of his hands and turned it around to look in its face, rubbing her thumb across the nose.

"Thanks…thanks, Dean." She sounded a little surprised.

"Yeah…" Dean muttered.

"It's a puma."

Dean's heart dropped, groped for something to tell her, remembering the scars on her arms and throat, the reason her left knee was bad and she couldn't see well out of her left eye was a mountain lion attack as a child. Why did he hand her the mountain lion? There were plenty of stuffed horses in the bag, too. He could have just as easily given her one of them.

"Yeah…I know you told me about what happened to you when you were younger. The attack at the canyon-"

Celia hid a flinch and looked at him expectantly.

"But I mean if you're still scared of them…you could, you know…" Dean fumbled trying harder, "I read somewhere that if a kid's afraid of something you can give them something positive to attach to the negative, like if they're afraid of dogs give them a stuffed dog, and it helps get over the anxiety."

"So ya thought that a stuffed puma would help me when I get the lion heebie-jeebies?" Celia asked turning the toy over in her hands.

Dean actually flushed a little. He shrugged, trying to play it off, "Yeah, I guess."

He refused to meet her eyes, cringing and waiting for it to be over.

"That's real sweet, Dean."

He looked up and saw she was looking at him with true affection, hugging the stuffed mountain lion to her chest.

"Thanks." She stepped up to him, pushing up on tip toe and planted a light kiss on his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. Dean's stomach lurched a little and her lips twitched into a grin before he stifled it.

Celia dipped her head, Dean was unable to see if she was blushing. Dean said nothing, knowing her well enough that embarrassing her further would only push her away. After a minuet she cleared her throat and motioned for him to follow her to the Silverado. Dean dropped in behind her, his eyes watching her step, picking out the very faint limp, the twist in her walk.

"Looks like you're feeling better." Dean said clearly.

Celia didn't respond. She pulled open the passenger seat and set the mountain lion on the seat and took the plastic bag of other toys and set it on the floor before shutting the door.

"Guess that anti-inflammatory and morphine worked." Dean pressed, he noticed the tightening in her shoulders. He decided to press his luck. "Right?"

"I kind of took…took somethin' else." Celia admitted, almost sheepishly. She looked anywhere but his eyes. Dean's green orbs narrowed suspiciously.

"Like what kind of 'something else'?"

Celia shifted, "Dose of Bute."

"'Bute'?"

"Phenylbutazone."

Dean awaited for a second and knew she wasn't going to elaborate. "And it's for what?"

"Its…" Celia shifted and swallowed, she seemed to be drawing in her courage. "It's a pain killer and anti-inflammatory…it's used for performance and work horses…"

Dean's jaw practically dropped.

"_You took a horse tranquilizer!?!"_

"It's _not_ a trank." Celia growled, bristling. "It's a painkiller."

"Can't you die using that stuff!?!"  
Celia shrugged nonchalantly, giving off an air alike to 'so what'.

"Celia-"

"I'm a grown up, Dean. I can make my own choices." She growled. Dean narrowed his eyes, stiffly crossing his arms tightly over his chest, fixing her with a hard look. Celia shifted, still refusing to meet his eyes, she started muttering, trying to justify herself to him.

"It was too painful…I couldn't take it."

Dean sighed. "Are _you _alright?"

Celia sighed, finally looking him in the face. "Yeah…little light headed and I probably shouldn't drive me truck…but yeah…" She smiled weakly at him. "No pain at least."

Dean sighed heavily, his turn to look anywhere he could to avoid her eyes for a second then looked back her.

"Where's Sam?" He asked, changing the subject

"Out bein' popular. I think it's startin' to go to his head." Celia started walking and Dean followed at her side. There was enough space between them for a horse to pass, but Celia wavered a step sideways and closed that distance easily. She tucked her hands into her pockets, letting her elbows brush lightly across Dean's.

"Popular?"

"He's a real hit 'round here, Dean." Celia said leading the elder brother passed a few other trucks and into the dark stretch of empty field between the stables and the party. "Big thing for the girls when ya add tall and mysterious to natural horsemanship."

Dean snorted, his eye twitched a little, his nostrils flaring.

Celia chuckled a little. "Jealous?"

Dean took a deep breath, sighing and shrugging his shoulder. "Naw, Sammy can have a little glory every now and then."

"Awe, yer so sweet." Celia teased and stepped sideways and bumping into Dean on purpose, forcing the taller man to stumbled sideways.

"Don't push." He snorted.

She scoffed, side stepped again and brushed her hip against his, pushing him.

"Celia, quit." Dean growled.

Again she side stepped and pushed him a little harder, nudging her shoulder into his bicep and knocking him off balance.

"Celia! Seriously!"

Celia blinked at him for a second then dropped back a step and shoved him roughly in the back.

"Hey!" Dean barked, stumbling forward but Celia took off, racing a head of him. Dean let out and animalistic growl and tore after her, trying to close the gap in a few strides but Celia was playing with him. Ducking and weaving she tore into the fire and truck light of the party circle and dodged around strangers.

Dean's heart thumped loudly in his chest and he pounded hard after he, trying to dive and skirt around sharp turns as fast as her smaller frame could.

Celia slowed down a little, dancing in a circle to look back, thinking she'd lost him but lunged back into a full sprint when she saw he practically a step behind her. Dean flushed a little driven harder by anger when he saw she was laughing!

Laughing at him! Dean doubled his pace, slamming his thrown shoulder painfully into another man as he exploded after her.

"HEY! SLOW DOWN!"

"Sorry!" Dean hollered to no one in particular, his green eyes completely locked on Celia's back. They tore passed someone that looked like Sam and sprinted back into the dark, dodging between two massive Ford trucks. Dean puffed, pushing himself harder than he had in the last four days but he was absolutely determined to catch (and punish) Celia. He knew she was teasing him, toying with him but it only pushed him harder. He reached, fingers just brushing her shirt before she dipped out of the way, leading him back towards the light and she leaped over a straw bale between two hunched, men with silvered hair. A sharp gasp echoed from the people as Celia seemed to just burst out of the dark. Another gasp followed as Dean made his own leap over the hay bale, thudding into the ground at a run and tearing after the still laughing Celia.

He practically danced to avoid slamming into a brindle Great Dane, swinging his hips out of the way to avoid being bitten, ducking and dipping between people and dogs.

"Dean!"

The elder brother ignored the sound of Sam's voice; all he could really hear was his own pounding heart. Following hot after Celia between a pair of trucks and into the dark again. He was press himself harder and harder, pounding, he was practically gasping to keep up. He needed to end this game. He lunged forward sprinting and reached out, his hand wrapped tightly around Celia's wrist, gripped practically white knuckled and hauled back, locking his legs and dug in.

Celia yelped mid laugh and stumbled backwards, hoping on her right foot and leg to keep from twisting the left and inflicting new pain on the old injury. Dean yanked her into his chest, wrapping her tightly into his arms and held her still while he rasped for breath.

"No more." Dean panted. Celia moved in his arms, jerking and trying to pull away from him, he squeezed her tighter into his frame. Doubling over and forcing her to bend at the waist with him. Their chests heaving tiredly, trying to get their wind back. Dean actually coughed hoarsely a few times. Celia took a few seconds, both of them shaking a little then Celia broke into a fit of laughter. Giggling and slumping, sliding down Dean's legs to sit on his shoes and back against his shins. Dean rested his hands on her shoulders and bent over her.

"Feeling better I guess." Dean muttered, still trying to catch his breath.

"Maybe morphine ain't so bad." Celia shrugged, tilting her head back to look at him, smiling gently. "Want to get a beer and listen to the band?"

Dean twitched his eyebrows up and shrugged, licking his lips and getting his breath back helped haul her back to her feet.

"Sure." He shrugged.

"Sure." She mimicked, even copying his slightly, Midwestern drawl.

"That stuff makes you playful, huh?"

"Little bit." Celia shrugged and started walking back towards the circle of light, Dean on her heels until she stopped short and stepped back, effectively shoving him again.

"CELIA!"

She broke into another fit of laughter and took off again. Dean sighed looking after her for a second, then his heart leaped back into a rapid pace and he tore after her. Celia bounded a head dogging Dean to follow, going slow enough that he could easily catch her but fast enough that he had to run. She balked, twisting and practically sliding across the grass and bounded out of sight, losing Dean. He stopped to a stop, looking around in the thick of the crowd. Most if not all were holding some form of alcohol or food, more relaxed in looser jeans and tee shirts compared to the tight fitting button downs and wranglers that had been seen in the ring, A lot of Stetsons had been abandoned or replaced with worn ball caps advertising favorite sports teams. There were a half a dozen trucks set up in a half circle, three of them front end inwards and lights on, and two massive works trucks backed up and filled with band equipment. Amplifiers and speakers set on the earth or pressed up against the cabs, microphone stands, a standard drum set and a couple of different kinds of guitars as they fiddled with a few individuals. No one was playing and it seemed like a couple were arguing in the bed of one of the two trucks. And the sixth truck was packed with coolers and feed buckets packed with ice, food and alcohol that the group had contributed and picked at as a communal group. Dean twisted to look the other way, he spotted another curve of set up straw bales, he dimly remembered jumping over something like that on his first run though. He noticed a flash of red hair and trotted towards it almost instinctively. In a few seconds he broke out of the main, chattering group towards the bales settled around the pit dug for a small bon fire. Sam was sitting on a bale at the end of the curve and Celia was handing him a beer. They both looked up at Dean walked towards them.

"How did you do that?" He asked.

Celia shrugged, smiling wryly at him and settled on the bale next to Sam. The younger Winchester was looking down, rolling the chilled and damp glass bottle between his palms. The younger man's narrow chest heaved with a deep breath then collapsed again.

"What's the matter with you?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head and twisted open the beer drinking from it.

"Seems to me that Beaver's dam has rotted a little."

The two brothers and Celia looked up into the weathered and wrinkled face of an old Native American, darks eyes crinkled and knowing, far wiser that either Dean or Sam liked.

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**Some times you just feel like getting chased...Read and Review! Thanks!**

**M.C. Tripp**


	26. Pedigree

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! **

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: Pedigree**

**"It's not your blue blood, youre pedigree or your college degree. It's what you do with your life that counts."**

**-Millard Fuller**

…

"BlueDog." Celia smiled warmly and pushed herself stiffly up, the romp around the grounds fleshing out strains in her knee again and she reached forward to the older Native American. They gripped each other's wrists tightly in greeting and smiling brightly.

"Red."

"Red?" Sam asked quietly, stiffening in his shoulders uncertainly.

"Boys, this is Joseph BlueDog from up 'round Mountain City, he was a buddy of my Daddy's. And yers." She tacked on in the end almost absently. "Use to run together a little."

"Out of the Bargest. Yes." BlueDog agreed.

"Joe, ya remember Sam and Dean, right? John's boys. Bit wider in the shoulders, I bet." Celia teased the boys inadvertently.

"It's not hard to remember spirits crossed before." BlueDog smiled kindly at the brothers and seemed to be soaking in their appearance. He held out his weathered hand to Sam, the younger looked at it critically before taking it. BlueDog smiled wider and reached for Dean's. The elder Winchester hung back cautiously.

"You knew Dad?" Dean asked warily. BlueDog recognized the Hunter caution and rested his hands on the hips of his dark blue jeans, making sure both boys could tell that he wasn't showing a sign of hostility.

"I knew John, far better than he would have liked, I suppose. But I blame Nathaniel for that." BlueDog said carefully. "Nathaniel spoke too much, I think."

"Daddy always had a problem with people being distant." Celia agreed but continued to argue her fathers' defense, "Only because he believed in family unity in all he did. Home, work and the Hunt. As I do."

"You were his favorite, I suppose."

"I excelled where Eli didn't and vice versa, he didn't have favorites." Celia stiffed a little. BlueDog grinned, he had obviously been driving towards this reaction. Dean actually started to tense up, tightening to lunge at Celia's defense. Something about BlueDog put him on edge.

BlueDog sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. The deep lines in his face getting deeper. His raven hair, long and tied back in a traditional braid streaking deeply with white and grey, he couldn't have been too much older than John and Nathaniel would have been, pushing his fifties. He, like most other men that Sam and Dean had encountered in Nevada, had a solid barrel of a chest and wide shoulders. But his stocky frame had considerably softened with age and gained weight. His face and hands were lined with thin discolorations that were long healed scars, chocolate eyes soaking in the smallest details around him and putting them to use in a trained and experienced brain. He was dressed in dark jeans, worn leather boots and a striped button down shirt. A carved animal totem, much like the ones that Dean and Sam each wore around their own throats, was tied into place around his thick neck; carved in the shape of a beaver, but far different from the one strung at Sam's collar. There were a few other strings of beads and a small medicine pouch looped around his neck with the totem and his wrists were heavy with bracelets made of beads, metal and leather.

He seemed everything friendly and welcoming and wise that one could hope from a stranger. But this man made Dean bristle in all the wrong places. The elder Winchester actually wanted to drive Sam and Celia from BlueDog and well away from his presence.

"How did you know Dad?" Dean pursued.

BlueDog flicked his eyes to Dean, then looked skyward, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "Was a bearwalker, back in '86 I think. Late '86. Nathaniel and John were havin' a little trouble with her. Showed up at the Bargest bitchin' and asked a hand from a couple of us. John was pissed about it though, thought he and Nathaniel could have handled it on their own, Nathaniel thought otherwise. He was right, turned out the damn girl was twice unlucky. Cursed and rabid, took eight hours to make sure that carcass was burned all the way down…and the two survivors. Rabies isn't a decent way to pass on the Red Road."

Dean and Sam were looking at BlueDog in mild shock.

"Daddy and John both had to go through the PEP and the RIG, didn't they? Rosa told me 'bout it." Celia muttered.

"Yeah, they both got clawed up a bit." BlueDog agreed.

"Knocked 'em both on their asses, those drugs did. Moaned and groaned for a couple weeks. I remember Daddy didn't even want to read books to me." Celia twisted and handed her beer to Dean, settling her hands on her hips and letting out a heavy sigh.

"You're a Hunter?" Sam asked quietly, looking at BlueDog.

"Used to be." BlueDog smiled slightly at him.

"BlueDog had enough reasons to get out before it got him." Celia said.

"Twin girls will do that." BlueDog rumbled a deep laugh.

Sam and Dean cast looks at each other.

"What?" BlueDog prompted.

"Just weird, most people we know are willing to fight to the end, you know, even if they have family." Sam muttered.

"Most of the other Hunters we met actually get into the game _because_ of what happened to their family." Dean said coolly. Celia glanced at him, noting the stiffness in his voice and words.

"All things are a hoop, Otter." BlueDog said wisely. "Its true that I walked to the Hunt for family and loss, but all things come to where they began, I stepped off that path for family and loss."

Dean tried hard not to bristle at the wisdom and truth in the old Native's words, he actually grit his teeth, locking his jaw to keep a smart remark in check.

BlueDog seemed satisfied and turned towards Sam. "So, Beaver, am I right?"

"My name's Sam." The younger man said stiffly. "Don't call me Beaver."

"Sam, when you wear a totem like that-" Celia motioned towards the carved beaver at his throat, the one she'd made herself, "-another addresses ya that way. It's a code of respect between strangers. BlueDog hasn't been invited to use yer name, so he calls ya 'Beaver'."

And the look Celia gave Sam clearly said _don't invite him to use you're name_.

Sam settled quietly with a distinct feeling that he had been schooled.

"Sam?" Celia asked, Sam blinked up at her a little confused, then he lunged to his feet, staring over her shoulder. Celia twisted and stepped back as the pretty, mocha skinned girl stepped into their conversation circle. She smiled warmly at Sam.

"Hi, Red." She said lightly to Celia.

"Freeman." Celia greeted, taking her hand. "Haven't seen ya in a while."

"Jamie." Sam muttered, worrying his hands over the curves of his beer bottle.

"Hi, Sam." Jamie pulled her hand from Celia grip and pushed curly hair back behind her ears. Dean was glad for the new distraction and cleared his throat. Celia picked up the hint.

"Jamie, this is Dean and I suspect ya know Sam." Celia introduced, "Boys, this is Jamie Freeman, also outta Mountain City."

"I read your column." Dean said shaking her hand. Celia and Sam looked at him in mild surprise.

"Really?" Jamie asked, clearly impressed.

"The one about Celia's work with the mustangs and the fires." Dean continued, his mind drifting back to the sleepless night that had led him to Tuscarora in the first place.

"Wow, that was a week or two ago. Good memory." Jamie commended.

Dean grimed slyly, pouring on the charm almost naturally. "Mind like a trap." Dean tapped the side of his head. Sam bristled at the smile and small laugh that Jamie supplied.

"Freeman, ya know BlueDog?" Celia motioned to the old Native still standing patiently with them.

"No but I went to school with Lanie and she was in the ring today, Mr. BlueDog." Jamie reached across and gripped BlueDog's hand tightly.

"Jamie." BlueDog greeted.

"I missed Lanie, huh?" Celia asked.

BlueDog nodded deeply, "Did alright, not as well as Freeman, here. We're heading out."

"Alright, take care, Joe." Celia reached and gripped BlueDog's wrist tightly and nodded respectfully.

"Good seeing you boys, and Freeman." BlueDog nodded to them and slipped away.

"By Mr. BlueDog." Jamie called, then turned back to Celia and the brothers, grinning awkwardly.

"You're a journalist?" Sam asked, his eyebrows quirked.

"Grad with honors." Jamie grinned wider. "Just working freelance for Elko and Mountain City."

"I'm impressed." Sam smiled genuinely, he sounded a little teasing as he spoke. Making Dean's eyebrows perk up a little.

"Oh, and what do ya do Mister Big-Bad Natural Horseman?" Jamie quirked back, practically batting chocolate eyes at Sam. The question fumbled the younger Winchester and he struggled instantly.

"Sam's workin' for me right now, Freeman." Celia put in gently. "All that legal shit I'm no good at and strugglin' a little to get his degree. Put it off a bit."

Sam and Dean blinked at her in surprise.

"What degree?" Jamie chirped clearly interested.

Sam blinked, "I was working on law." He managed out.

"'Course doing all the paper work Red can't."

"Its not that I cain't do it, just I ain't good at it." Celia snorted indigently. Dean bit back a smile at the mildly hurt look in Celia's eyes.

"Red!"

The four of them glanced up as Benjamin Kimama trotted up, he'd traded his button down for a red tee shirt and boots for tennis shoes.

"Ben, Dean this is Benjamin Kimama, Jr. Ben this is Dean, Sam's brother." Celia said quickly. "And ya know Freeman."

"Hey Cousin Jamie." Benjamin said and shook Dean's hand, quickly releasing it and slapping Celia heavily on the shoulder. "Great work in the ring, Red, though ya looked a little sick there by the end."

"I'm too old, Ben." Celia muttered. "Feel lucky, this is the last ya probably with see of me in the ring."

"Yeah right!" Benjamin laughed, slugging back a beer. "Look, I'm goin' that way. I'll see ya 'round the rez, Red." He jogged off again, hailing someone else. And he was quickly replaced by a couple. A young man and woman, both of them also Native American and they chattered and congratulated Celia and Dean got another introduction. It was some kind of blur of faces and smiles and names that Dean didn't even bother to remember. And each of them were either full blood or half blood Natives. Dean only noted three Caucasian faces. The elder Winchester was dimly aware of Sam and Jamie deep in talk and the rest of the party going on around him, but things were thrown suddenly into perspective.

Dean had forgotten that Celia was the same blood as many of her acquaintances and/or 'relatives' that Dean smiled and shook hands with.

That she was a Native American herself. Looking at her it was easy to forget, her only physical trait was the tawny color of her skin. The blood colored eyes and red hair threw off what he figured as the 'typical' Native. And the more he thought the clearer it was in her behavior for what he had at first mistaken for pure, undiluted, give-me-no-shit, American country girl orneriness.

Dean had associated with numerous Native Americans in his long life on the Hunt. Shamans and medicine men and elders that knew the curses, legends and myths come to reality that the Winchesters dealt with day to day. He was able to see the behaviors he expected in her now.

Pride to a point of self destruction, determination, deep value of family and community, respect for elders and warriors. Not to mention her cryptic speech and attitude, they way she handled people and animals above all, her dept of knowledge of the land and wildlife and the lore that went with it. Now that he focused on it she was everything he expected of any tribe elder, rolled up in a petite, female package.

She had an old soul quality Dean was drawn too.

He thought deeply, trying to remember what tribes her lineage was made up of.

Possibly Pawnee was one and he was positive that Nez Perce was the other. There was a third…Cree?

Dean was suddenly desperate to know.

The stream of strangers was starting to ebb and the crowded, tight feeling Dean got around crowds went with it. He took a quick look at Sam and Jamie, still talking to each other.

"They've been at it for a while now." Celia sighed, she looked haggard and tired.

"She's all over him." Dean mumbled.

"He needs to make a move." Celia agreed.

"He won't." Dean assured her,

"Well then we make it happen." Celia gave him a look that clearly said _follow my lead_. Dean watched and waited to see how she pulled it off. Celia looked dead at Sam an expression of question and expectance written on her features. After a few long seconds Sam felt the eyes on his frame and looked away from Jamie. He blinked at the look on her face made a questioning motion of his hand and head. Celia returned with a cocking of her eyebrows that clearly said 'what?'

"What do you want?" Sam said.

Celia blinked, throwing him the same baffled look.

"What do you want?" Sam said louder.

"What? Dance?" Celia asked, quirking her eyebrows up again.

"Dance?" Sam repeated shaking his head a little and trying to understand.

"Oh no. Thanks though, but I'm sure Freeman will. Won't ya Jamie?"

"What?" Jamie blinked, lost in the conversation.

"Dance?" Sam asked the mocha skinned girl. She looked pleasantly surprised.

"Sure." She snatched Sam's hand tightly and tugged him up to his feet and led the shocked young man towards the thick of the crowd.

Dean scoffed and looked sideways at Celia.

"And that is how ya do that."

"Very smooth." Dean commended.

"Learned it from Rosa, did it to her brothers." Celia smiled quietly moving to the place on a hay bale that Sam and Jamie had just vacated and eased down. Dean crossed to stand like a protective shadow at her side.

"You alright?"

"Shouldn't have gone tearin' 'round." Celia managed to smiled through a slight grimace. Dean sighed and settled himself down next to her on the hay bale, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

She was watching couples turning circles around each other kicking and dipping, laughing and enjoying dancing in the grass to live music. Dean noted the look in her eyes, a longing weariness, even a touch of bitter regret. He swallowed thickly, chewing his lower lip a little.

"Did you want to…" He trailed off, making an awkward wave towards the dancing couples. Celia blinked, looking around at him, thinking for a second before she understood.

"Oh, naw." She said a little stiffly. "I cain't dance, not really…probably shouldn't."

"With the knee." Dean put in for her. She nodded. Dean sighed, fiddling the beer bottle between his hands and chanced a drink, swallowing the alcohol much easier than he had before.

"Feelin' better?"

He nodded and jumped a little before relaxing when her fingers crossed feather light over his brow. Resting her palm on his skin. Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he dipped his head forward, resting weight on her hand.

The palm moved, gliding over his skin and pressing into his temple before it was gone and Dean's eyes blinked open slowly.

"No sign of fever. Ya eat slow for a few days, no junk food, and I'll call it done."

"No heat stroke?"

"None I can see. Ran its course." Celia smiled assuringly. Dean let out a tightly held breath he didn't know he was keeping and slumped a little.

Celia laughed a little, deep in her throat, reached over and took the beer out of his hands and sipped it before handing it back.

"You're Nez Perce, right?"

"Mostly." Celia returned.

"How do you mean 'mostly'?"

"My father, Fell Northwind, was full blood Nez Perce. My mother, MelanieKipcha Kuruk was half blood Pawnee. The other Blackfoot and a little Irish in there too." Celia sighed. She twitched her nose and sniffed a little.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Funny."

"What is?"

"Don't know a lot 'bout the Irish part. The most common heritage in the United States and me, pridin' myself on my mind for history and culture and tradition and I know shit 'bout Ireland."

"I don't think I can help you much. Mom was Welsh, I think. Don't know about Dad really."

"Bit of Scotch-Irish." Celia sighed.

"Really?"

She nodded. It fell quiet between them. Dean searched through the crowd to look for his baby brother and his dance partner. He smiled slightly, Sam's eyes were locked on his feet, hands practically white knuckled gripping Jamie's while the woman spoke assuringly to him, teaching him a partnered two-step to match the thrumming instrumental music of a steel guitar and a fiddle.

"It's okay if you don't know a lot about the Irish. Its easy to learn about that stuff…I mean one clan map and a regional book and you're done."

Celia grunted quietly in agreement.

"Whats impressive…" Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, making sure he wasn't looking at her. "…is knowing the Indian history. Especially if its more than one tribe…its all oral history…with gaps and silences and what historians and pioneers had to say about the 'savages'…that's tough-"

"Ya have no idea." Celia sighed, "There was a time, Dean, that ya would have shot me on sight."

"Never-"

Celia chuckled, cutting him off. "Those days were different, yer as much of a white boy as ya can get without being blonde and blue-eyed…we'll more blonde than ya are…and I'm just a 'red skinned Indian'." Celia looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, Dean's chest tightened to argue but relaxed at the small smile on Celia's lips and in her eyes. She was just teasing him again, it seemed, Dean sighed.

"Celia-"

"I wouldn't argue with her."

Dean tensed and coiled so hard her bit down on his tongue and he nearly choked on the coppery taste of blood as it flooded into his mouth.

"Jesus, just go to hell and leave me alone, Shakes. I'm done entertainin' yer foul temper." Celia sighed and glaring around at the ill tempered blonde. Shakes' face hardened into an ugly grimace for a minuet then relaxed again.

"_You're _entertaining _me_?" Shakes' snapped. "Absolutely laughable."

"Is there somethin' ya wanted to say?"

"One puny show from Elko county hardly makes you a better rider than me."

"Yer right, me being a better rider makes me a better rider than ya." Celia sniffed back, her clipped tone and it was clear that she was serious. Dean stayed absolutely still, eyes locked on Shakes and waiting for the one thing that would give him reason to take the smaller man straight to the ground in a serious dog fight.

"Anythin' else?" Celia asked in a curt monotone. "If not get back to yer neon bars and those shows ya enjoy so much with the males all in sequins and feathers."

Shakes' jaw locked hard and his eyes flared fire for a few seconds.

Dean knew Celia was far from intolerant but Shakes' was far from a tolerable person. But it was clear that she had just struck a very sore nerve.

"Are you _honestly_ trying to patronize _me_!?! You?!? _The_ most washed out, has been, no class, no pedigree _female_ in all of Nevada!?! You don't even-"

"Hey, hey, hey! Shakes!" Celia barked, cutting him off and drawing the startled and enraged eyes of the man to her, his narrow chest was heaving shallowly.

"Don't have an aneurysm." Celia said without venom or sarcasm. "Get to the point, I'm gettin' older. And by the streaks of gray in yer mane, ya are, too."

Shakes' turned two shades of purple and then dissolved into deep red. In his spiral of shock, insult and rage the blonde's articulate and smooth speech crashed violently into a slurred Nevadan accent.

"_Ya filthy little bitch! _Yer nothin' but reservation trash and ya'll never be anythin' more! Those mutt, feral horses of yer's too! Ya goddamn savage!"

Dean's fist connected with Shakes' jaw with an ominous crack. A startled gasp from the on lookers of the confrontation muffled the sickening thud the blonde made when he hit the earth. Head practically spinning the blonde flailed, scrambled, shot a terrified look at Dean before stumbling to his feet. Hair ruffled, eyes bleary and twitching and his jaw swelling up considerably.

Dean's teeth and fists were clenched tightly, eye emerald fire and narrowed. The sharps huffs of air passing through his nose was enough. Shakes didn't even double take at the larger man and turned sharply on his heel and stomped away, wobbling more than a little.

There seemed to be and echoing silence before a small chorus of applause and agreement went up around the crowd as they turned back to their activities.

"Dean!" Celia hissed dangerously, grabbed his fore arm and yanked him back and away, out of the circles of light and into the dim shade that split the dark from the party grounds. A soon as he was into the darker light Dean unclenched his right hand and shook it out violently, rubbing the sore knuckles.

"That hurt!" Dean snapped ill tempered.

"Dean, ya don't behave like that!" Celia growled at him. "Don't waste yer time or energy on a bastard like that! High road Dean, goddamnit!"

Dean sighed, rolled his eyes heavenward bracing for a lecture. She rubbed a hand across her jaw and looked up at him.

"Still was pretty bad ass…" Celia sighed and smiled at him, reaching out and taking his right hand and massaging the sore skin and muscles. Dean grinned back.

"He doesn't talk to you like that." The elder Winchester growled.

"My knight in shinin' armor." Celia rubbed her palm lightly over his knuckles before she let go of his hand. Dean missed the warmth immediately.

"I hit him to hard, hurt myself."

"It'll teach ya to control yer father's temper, there." Celia teased more than scolded.

Dead rolled his eyes and smiled down at her, feeling much larger than he normally did. It must have been an after effect of his chivalrous defense of her 'honor' so to speak (or at least that's what he blamed it on) but Dean felt taller, heavier and generally bigger. It seemed that he hadn't only forgotten Celia's blood lines but just how petite she really was. She seemed to much bigger when she was handling a horse, her truck or doing any kind of 'normal' ranch work that was her daily life. The tough, sharp almost indestructible woman he had gotten used to seemed…small, even fragile and breakable. His mind flashed to her damaged knee and the drugs that were killing the pain and inflammation in her joint enough that she could act normally.

Dean felt every over-protective cell in his body expand.

'…_I'm askin' ya if ya would just protect her and help her when she needs it, just like ya do for Sammy…'_

Elijah's words wrapped tightly around his heart and his circle of protection grew swallowing Celia up next to Sam and the Impala.

His grin softened, warming up. Celia cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

Dean shrugged, still grinning stupidly. Celia narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"What?"

Dean filled his chest to speak.

The sky split open in a flash of blinding white. The crack like a gun shot fired right in Dean's ear. A collective, startled yelp broke from the crowd, the music crashed to a stop and every body froze looking towards the sky. Celia and Dean both jumped, Celia whirling around and jumping back a step, pressing her back towards Dean's chest.

It was a first, Dean realized. He hadn't seen her back since stalking in on her with a gun. He was a little surprised by it; she always seemed to have her back in a protective place, against a wall, or a corner or a fence. She never had it turned in a way that someone could easily catch her from behind.

Celia looked like a startled horse, blinking around and twitching her head left and right, as if looking for the source of the gun shot.

A deep, roaring rumbled followed the flash of light. Crackling and pitching in noise.

"Thunder." Dean muttered, looking skyward, now he could see the churning clouds over head. He blinked as another crack of lightening split the sky, making him flinch again.

"C'mon, it's comin' in hard." Celia reached around and grabbed Dean's hand, hauling on it once to get him into motion after her before letting go.

They jogged swiftly across the grounds.

"Sam!" Celia called sharply, searching the crowd. People were scattering, rushing to pack up food, drink and equipment.

"Sam!" Dean barked.

"Sammy!" Celia's eyes darted around the people.

"SAM!" Dean hollered, drowned out by another crash of lightening and thunder.

"Dean! He's smart, he'll get to the truck! Let's go!" Celia snagged his hand again and tugged.

Dean scanned the faces one more time before breaking into a jog after Celia, pulling out his cell phone and hitting the speed dial for Sam's phone number. He pressed it to his ear and waited. A few seconds and he got a busy tone. Dean cursed disconnected the call and tried again and got another busy tone.

"Damn idiot, answer you're phone."

Dean picked up his pace so he was jogging next to Celia, green eyes still searching everything around him for his younger brother. Dean even danced around in a circle, looking behind them.

"Grab a horse Dean!" Celia rushed up to the two stalls with her horses and hauled open the stall to reach in and grab Honeycatcher's halter. The stud snorted, tugged back once before breaking out of the stall and trotting behind her. Cottoneye Cloud nickered and started after her. Dean rushed forward and snagged the palomino's halter and jogged after Celia, around the trailer. The red eyed woman hauled on Honeycatcher's halter and guiding him up to the back of the air ride. She swiftly unlocked and swung the doors open as the sky rumbled and cracked open with another burst of thunder and lightening. She didn't even bother to haul out the ramp and jumped the two feet up into the trailer. Honeycatcher whinnied irritably but launched himself up after her. His shod hooves clomping loudly on the metal. Dean waited, listening to the sounds of Celia tying the horse into place and swinging the barrier around and locking it.

"Dean."

The elder Winchester answered the command, climbing into the trailer and tugging lightly on the palomino until with a awkward hop Cottoneye Cloud followed him. Dean maneuvered the horse into place, walking passed Celia, Dean clipped the lead tied to the hitch ring in the trailer to Cottoneye Cloud's halter, stepped out of the way and swung the barrier into place, locking it down. He jogged out of the trailer and dashed around to the other stall. Celia had a firm hand on Topmoon Goldfinch, keeping the stall shut and clearly waiting for Dean. She stepped away as soon as he had a hand on Ceasefire's halter. They repeated the process. Celia finally swinging the trailer doors shut as the rain started to come down. They swiftly emptied the buckets of water and grain onto the ground, tossing them and the stall rugs into the bed and replacing the Katana cover before opening the cab doors, letting Buckshot and Valentine vault into the seats first. Celia lifted Alamo physically and and eased him gently onto the seat. The aged dog moaning softly and limbed carefully back into the back seat with the black and cinnamon Shepherd. Buckshot whined and licked the merle collie's face as the older dog settled back into the seat. Dean dialed Sam's number again as he climbed into the passenger seat.

He got a busy tone, with a snarled cruse she snapped the phone shut and leaned back against the seat.

"Don't worry Dean, he's probably tryin' to detach himself from Freeman." Celia assured, shutting her door and taking a deep breath before gathering up the stuffed mountain lion, setting it in her lap and absently petting its tawny fur. They sat in the dark, rain pattering on the frame and windshield and blinked as trucks and trailers pulled out and rumbled passed, a few honking at them. Dean and Celia each would lift a hand in return. The listened to the shifting of the four horses in the trailer, the panting of the dogs and the rain.

Dean glanced sideways; Celia was still scrubbing her hand over the mountain lion's fur.

"I took off because I said something earlier…" Dean muttered. Celia perked, listening and twisting to look at him.

"Alright…was it ugly?"

Dean sighed and nodded, he could feel guilt trying to gut him. Best get it over with. "I didn't have any right to say it…it was about Nathaniel."

Celia watched him carefully, no expression in her face.

"I didn't know if he was a Hunter, Sam and I were arguing and…I said if he was a Hunter…he didn't know how to handle himself because he ended up dead."

Dean swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and shut his eyes, half expecting to be slapped.

Silence rung in the cab for a few long seconds. He heard her sigh heavily.

"Kind of unfair, seein' as how most Hunters end up dead anyway."

Dean blinked his eyes open and looked around at her. She was watching him calmly.

"But yer…pointin' in the right direction…Nathaniel wasn't…the _best _Hunter. He was a better cop and father."

Dean stared at her. He felt a mild bubble of anger for her betrayal to Nathaniel, if anyone had spoke about John like that they would have been lucky to survive the fight.

"What?" Dean gaped.

"Nathaniel made a lot of mistakes…we wasn't really cut out for the trade." Celia was clearly trying to choose her words carefully, as if walking on very thin ice. "It wasn't in his blood. You know?"

Dean nodded slowly, trying to understand.

"He wasn't a perfect man. A good one worked hard and lived and died for the people he loved, but far from perfect…he could be obsessive and cheesy as hell. I swear some of the stuff he said." She chuckled a little under her breath. Dean's eyes flicked down, Celia was hugging the mountain lion in a white knuckle grip, the tawny fur starting to dampen with her sweat. "He was a Bronco's fan-"

"Always a bummer." Dean put in, trying to smile. She grinned a little, eyes flashing to his face for a second.

"Cowboys and Texans all they way." Celia pried a hand away from the mountain lion and made a little punch of her fist in the air.

"I hear that." Dean thumped his fist against hers before they settled back again.

The patter of rain echoed and Valentine shifted with a muffle whine.

"He had a hard hand."

Dean tensed, winding tight like a steel coil. "Did he hit you?"

"I got a smack across the back of the head once or twice, especially if I was fightin', but that's not what I meant. I meant that he was set in his ways. Bit like John, had his jaw locked and it took a lot to get him to move on anything that wasn't 'his' way."

Dean nodded, understanding all to well what she meant.

"I sure as hell loved that man."

"Sounds like it-" Dean spoke as he glanced out the window, noticing a shape rushing through falling rain towards the Silverado across the empty grounds. "-there's Sam."

Dean waited, timing himself and pushed his door open, swung out of his seat and the way as Sam hurled himself into the back seat in a soggy blur. Dean was back up and after her, shutting the passenger door tight behind him as Celia cranked on the engine.

The white truck roared to life, lights flashing on and dials springing into place.

"Ya okay, Sam?" Celia asked, twisting around to look at him and giving the engine a second to warm up.

"Yeah. Sorry. I just…" Sam maneuvered something around in his hand before stuffing it into his pocket. Dean barely caught the flicker of numbers scribbled on a piece of white paper before it was gone.

"Saying good bye?" Dean teased. Sam blushed, ducking his head and rubbing his neck harshly and tugged his collar up a little, swiftly hiding a darkening area on his throat.

"What the hell is that?" Celia barked and leaned back, grabbing Sam's collar and tugging it down. Sam swatted at her but not before Dean and Celia got a full look at the bruise across his jugular vein.

"It's nothing." Sam snapped, blushing harder.

"Dude! She Hoovered yer neck, man!" Celia barked making Dean burst out laughing. Sam blushed harder but a very thin smile drifted over his lips.

"I left a couple marks myself." Sam said boldly. Dean and Celia whooped.

"That's my boy!" Dean barked, reaching around to thump his little brother on the shoulder.

"Great job, today fellas." Celia smiled at them. "Lots of accomplishments, right?"

The brothers cheered in agreement and the three dogs set up barking loudly together.

"Lets go home." Dean sighed.

Celia twisted around to look at him, her eyebrows raised in question, then she smiled. Making his heart hitch a little.

"Yeah, lets go home." She agreed as the brothers settled back to relax in the ride along seats.

…

_The world spun, a blur of red rock canyon walls, a river and the clouded sky over head. Objects and animals flashed into focus then died again. _

_A coal black crow perched on a sun bleached mustang skull. Its head arched and croaked loudly._

_Dean's head and shoulders burst through the surface of the blood river, gasping for air and coughing up blood before being dragged back under. _

_The desert spun by, cactus and scrub brush dark blurs against red and gold clay under a crystal blue sky. A massive thunder head boiled up, riding on the back of the brown and with painted horse, its blue eyes wild with fear._

_A cavern loomed into place, growing up around him in milliseconds as what took millions of years, the walls painted with glyphs of the natives long dead. _

_The river back roared into sharp focus, Kaneonuskatwe staked towards him, one eye seeing the other blind and fur drenched in blood. The animal flickered, the wolf, then the stalking figure of Celia, her lips drawn back the same way to bare canine like teeth at him before flickering again into the shape of the massive wolf. The monster roared and lunged forward teeth snapping violently._

Sam jerked awake slamming his head violently against the window of the truck cab. The pain in his mind throbbed and doubled. Sam spasmed harshly in his seat, arching and slamming his back against the cushions. Through the chaos and pain in his mind Sam could hear the dogs barking, Dean and Celia calling his name. Sam bit into the inside of his cheek, his mouth flooding with the coppery taste of his own blood.

"SAM!"

The younger Winchester wrenched, twisting and rolling as the violent images of Kaneonuskatwe flooded his already fear soaked mind.

Blood trickled out of his nose, down to his lips. Sam's back arched as the last shiver ran through his frame and he collapsed panting violently and trying to focus his blurry vision.

Muffled voices cleared up and he slowly realized that they weren't moving anymore.

"Sammy!"

He registered the panicked tone in Dean's voice.

"A vision…it was a vision…" Sam managed out, swallowing his own blood and nearly gagging on it.

"Vision?" Celia asked.

Dean glanced at her, but was twisted around to reach and try to take care of his little brother.

"Dean, Sam has visions!?" Celia barked, clearly wanting an answer.

"For a year and a half now, yes!" Dean snapped back. "Sammy. Sam what did you see?"

"A seer…" Celia muttered, slumping back against the drivers seat and staring dead forward, out onto the darkened road and desert a head, just and hour out side of Tuscarora and out running the still closing storm behind them.

"Sammy?"

"River of blood…you…you were drowning. And there was a storm chasing that paint horse…" Sam shook his head carefully, trying to clear it. He was shivering and forcing himself slowly back under control.

"Anything else?" Dean asked carefully, resting a firm hand on Sam's shoulder.

"The wolf…that wolf Kaneonuskatwe. And all over a canyon and the desert…and there was a crow. It was perched on a horse skull…that's all. Everything else was to blurry."

"Alright." Dean assured, squeezing Sam's shoulder and giving him a little shake.

Celia kicked open her door, sliding out and leaving it open as she dropped down to the road and stalked towards the bed of her truck. Dean glanced up, wondering briefly where she was going before returning to reassuring Sam.

"Are you alright?"

"No…that hurt a lot." Sam reached up and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, trying to clear it of blood.

"You going to be able to hold up for another hour? We're almost back."

"Shouldn't be a problem." Sam assured.

Suddenly the half door as his back yanked open. Before Sam could twist Celia reached in, scruffed him by the neck, hair and collar of his shirt and hauled the much taller and heavier man out of the back seat and threw him harshly to the cement road.

"HEY!" Sam yelped in pain, in a daze, rolling across the rain soaked asphalt and slamming hard onto his back,. Cracking his head. Star bursts flashed in his already dulled and blurred vision.

"The hell! Celia!" Dean barked, scrambling across Valentine to the driver's seat and starting to get out of the truck.

The ominous sound of metal sliding across metal, a rifle loading and cocking a shell into place froze both brothers were they where, stock still, barely breathing much less moving.

The stock set firmly in her shoulder Celia sighted down the sleek and polished barrel of her favorite Winchester rifle, aimed dead at Sam's throat and already putting pressure on the trigger.

* * *

**Jamie Freeman is a creation of my super kick-ass beta: Sierra Nichole! Whoo!**

**Sorry it took so long, finals week, studying day in and out over here. Wish me luck and thanks for being patient. Look out next week for my Christmas Like Us universe one-shot!**

**Much Love**


	27. The Mistakes We Make

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! **

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven: The Mistakes We Make**

"**To avoid situations in which you might make mistakes may be the biggest mistake of all."**

**- Peter Mc Williams**

…

"Red-"

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam's gut wrenched in panic. She was going to kill him, Sam Winchester slaughtered on a deserted strip of Nevada highway in the pouring rain. Shot by someone he had begun to consider a friend, begun to trust.

"Red please!"

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was emotionless, stark and dead; like the voice of a corpse. She pressured down on the trigger.

"RED!" Sam clenched his jaw and shut his eyes and braced for the impact.

Dean slammed into her side; the sound that escaped her throat wasn't so much as a yelp as a snarl of frustration. Dean grabbed the rifle, whirled Celia forcefully around and slammed her into the side of the truck bed, with a growl Dean crushed the Winchester across Celia's chest, pushing the barrel up into her throat and trapping her against the rain slicked metal.

"Celia. Stop." Dean commanded, his eyes steely, calm. He was completely locked down; jaw clenched and air rushing out his nose as he tried to keep himself unemotional. He gave her and the rifle a little shake. "Stop it."

Sam sighed heavily, his heart hammering and slumped back against the cement. Dean was in control. He watched and tensed back up when Celia shook her head slightly. Her red eyed flickering and flecking with black in the pools of blood red. She left her head fall back against the truck bed and heaved a sigh.

"No."

She clenched her teeth and whistled loudly. Dean blinked, then yelped as a hundred pounds of solid white fur and muscle highballed into his side and took him cleanly off his feet. The snarling ball of fury raged like a miniature thunder storm. Dean failed, unsure how to handle himself. The rifle flew out of his hands and skidded across the asphalt. Dean reached around and dug his hand into the thick rough of Valentine's throat and grabbed a fist full of flesh and fur. His other hand reached up and locked under the Shepherd's jaw. Both hands shoved upwards, pushing Valentine back, trying to stay calm and pressing himself down into the cement and as far away from the flashing and snapping teeth as possible. Valentine snarled violently, paws scraping at his chest and arms, thudding into his stomach and pelvis.

Celia pushed off the side of her truck and yanked her bone hilt knife free from her waist, the blade flashed in the pale light and she launched towards Sam. The younger brother scrambled up, sliding and rolling out of the way, rushing to get his feet securely under him. His elbow slammed into Celia's side and grounded her hard. Another whistle cut through the air and Sam barely dodged out of the way as Buckshot lunged for his shoulder, the sound of canine teeth clicking together sent a shiver up Sam's spine.

Valentine wrenched around, twisting Dean's arms and hands unnaturally to the side, making the elder Winchester yelp in pain and forcing him to twist. Valentine dove hard into the gap in the elder Winchester's defense. Dean froze as jaws snapped shut on his throat. Teeth scrapped across his skin, the tongue pressing down into his flesh, the vibration of Valentine snarling and growling rivaling the thunder of Dean's heartbeat. He knew one false move and Valentine would literally tear his throat out. Dean's green eyes flicked to where Sam was practically dancing around Celia and Buckshot.

Alamo, the massive merle collie sat silently on the diver's seat of the truck, looking out into the chaos erupting around him. The old dog observed without emotion or sway to act, the only truly emotionless member.

Sam made a misstep, trying to get away from Buckshot and crashed right into Celia. In a blur the smaller and much lighter woman slammed a boot into the back of Sam's knees and downed him, both of them crashing to the wet asphalt.

"SAM! CELIA STOP!" Dean barked, rewarded with a warning squeeze from Valentine's jaws.

Celia planted a knee in Sam's back, forcing him to arch over her as she kneeled in the rain water. One arm and hand tangled into Sam's arms and hands, wrenching his shoulders painfully in the wrong direction. The blade pressed into Sam's throat, forcing his head back against her shoulder. The blade slid into position under his jaw where the bone met his ear, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Dean saw her grip shift, tightening and bracing to put strength into the knife to slash Sam's throat open. Sam's eyes fluttered shut in fear and bracing for death.

"**M'AMIN! STOP!"** Dean barked.

She froze. The black in her eyes flickered out for a second before flooding back, streaks of onyx in rings of ruby.

Dean flinched, wincing in pain as Valentine clamped down harder, crushing his windpipe for a few seconds before easing the pressure. Valentine practically danced on top of him, paws crushing into his stomach and scraping across his ribs. Dean choked, trying to cough but each gasping heave grated his flesh against the albino German Shepherd's teeth. Dean twisted his head so he could see his brother and Celia, he was actually able to catch her eye and hold it. The black rose and ebbed like a tide in her eyes.

"Sam didn't have anything to do with Nathaniel." Dean rasped out, feeling Valentine's jaws squeezing tighter. "You want someone to blame. I get it. I'm the same way. Dad and that fucking demon. You have every right. But not Sam."

"They killed him." The noise was inhuman as it rolled out of her throat.

"_They._ They not Sam." Dean pleaded. "He was six when Nathaniel died. You can't blame him, can't kill him."

Celia seemed to be listening, just faintly. Sam shifted, upsetting the tense stalemate that had fallen between them. Celia snarled her grip tightening and the blade bit into Sam neck.

"He didn't have anything to do with it! We where there when Sheriff Jessop called you, told you what happened! We were at the funeral!"

Celia snorted heavily through her nose. Her grip on Sam tightened painfully, the knee dug deeper into his strained spine and blade twisted into an angle, digging upwards under his jaw. But her eyes, as unfocused as they were, were locked on Dean. Dean's chest heaved exhausted and straining.

"It was raining. You wouldn't let Dad walk straight, he let you get in the puddles. Soaking wet, you didn't care, and you rode with us. Me, you and Sammy in the back of the Impala. You were squeezing me so tight I couldn't breathe. You didn't talk after that, still don't, not really. Sam wasn't a part of Nathaniel's death, only the mourning…the healing. Please, him and you…you're all I've really got left…I can't lose both of you."

Sam's eyes had flicked open, locked on Dean as his elder brother made his speech, his plead. The younger Winchester didn't like the way begging sounded on Dean. It was unnatural.

"Please…that's Sam."

Sam felt Celia's head fall forward, dropping onto his shoulder briefly, the first sign of emotion in almost seven minuets crept into a thin and shaky breath she practically panted into his left shoulder. Sam shut his eyes and prayed.

About five yards away Dean did the same.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

The younger Winchester tensed; the words sent a chill running so deep he felt he could never be warm again. His skin numbed to the pain of the knife lightly sawing into his throat and the rain slamming down in sheets. Sam actually felt the sting of salt collect in the corner of one eyes and streak across his cheek.

His eyes flew open.

He wasn't crying.

"Sammy, please…ya have to forgive me…" The side of Celia's face was pressed into his. She sniffed heavily, a sickly sob of a noise. The clatter of metal hitting asphalt allowed the younger Winchester to relax. He slumped uncomfortably against her crouched frame and breathed out heavily.

"Please?" She begged, one hand breaking its grip on his wrists, the other pressing in tightly to the thin line her knife had grazed along his throat, putting down enough pressure to stem the narrow flow of blood but not nearly enough to hinder his breathing.

She gave him a tiny shake, burying her face deeper into his sodden hair and neck.

"Sam, please!" She sobbed.

Sam choked on a broken laugh, his thundering heart relaxing. Without hesitation the forgiving brother lifted his left arm, reached around and hugged her tightly around the neck, tangling his hand into her hair and actually tugged her closer. Pressing her frame closer to his Sam let out a relieved, shaky breath, smiling slightly.

"Sam-"

"Don't sweat it, Red." Sam assured gently. She let out a pitiful, cropped laugh into his collar bone.

Dean shifted, collapsing onto the cement in relief. Valentine's jaws opened, leaving light welts and scratches across his skin. Dean's hand instantly flew to his throat, rubbing it and coughing loudly. The albino shepherd whined and carefully licked the back of Dean's hand. Like when they met, Dean jerked back at first then settled, patting the dog's jaw. Valentine backed off sitting at his side as Dean forced himself up to a sitting position; he shivered, soaking wet and emotionally drained. Still on guard Dean watched as Sam muttered something quietly to Celia, patting her jaw and making her muffle a weary laugh into his shoulder. Dean stayed coiled, tense and ready until Celia finally broke off, helping Sam to regain his balance and feet from the uncomfortable position that she'd forced him into in the first place. The younger Winchester stretched, straining out all the kinks and knots in his spine and back.

Dean jumped a little, tightening when she scooped up the knife and relaxed again when it slid into the leather sheath at her hip. The elder Winchester relaxed even more when Sam picked up the rifle and unloaded the ammunition from the chamber. Dean watched stiffly, almost emotionless on the out side as Celia crossed the asphalt, through the rain to stand next to him. Dean immediately noted she wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Dean-"

He grunted, cutting her off and shoving himself up to his feet, not bothering to dust himself off in the pouring rain.

"Dean, I'm-"

"Forget it." The elder Winchester snapped, sharply and dangerously cutting her off. Celia flinched away from his harsh tone, curling in on herself and looked hurt and guilty. Dean forced himself not to either snarl at her or comfort her. He knew she was going to apologize but he seriously didn't want to hear it. He was still trying to work out the thoughts, doubts and disbeliefs rushing through his mind. He grit his teeth in a snarl and stepped over to her. Celia again flinched, as if expecting a blow.

Dean roughly reached forward, snagged her belt and yanked her forward; his hand dug into her pocket and extracted her keys. They jingled before being engulfed in his palm.

Without looking at either Sam or Celia, stalked over to the truck coming face to face with Alamo. The elder collie sniffed before pushing himself stiffly to his feet, turning and climbing back into the back seat. Dean hauled himself up into the drivers seat, cranking the engine on with a roar.

"Dean, maybe you shouldn't-"

"I'm driving Sam." Dean snapped irritably before slamming the driver's side door closed. The younger Winchester looked over at Celia, her head hung in shame, soaking wet, she looked absolutely miserable. Sam stepped over and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the jerk she made, cringing away from him. Sam nudged, steering her around the front of the truck towards the passenger side. Buckshot and Valentine shook themselves, sprinting around a head of them and climbing into the truck before either Sam or Celia could.

Dean watched disapprovingly as Sam nudged Celia into the passenger seat then climbed into the back. The younger brother shot Dean a look not to argue and settled back as the elder Winchester roughly threw the truck into gear and pulled back onto the highway, only feeling nervous and unsure about his choice to commandeer the Silverado when he felt the truck lunge forward the start pulling the trailer and heard the rattle of the massive air ride as the four horses shifted.

He'd driven a cement truck before; it couldn't be much different, right?

…

The rain hadn't put any kind of effort into stopping. Dean felt uncomfortable, awkward and stiff. Still nervous without real experience with the truck and trailer, Sam looking nervously between his brother and Celia. And there was the fact that the red eyed rancher was pressed tightly into the door, as far away from Dean as possible, her eyes locked on the darkness outside of her and pure shame lined her face like a mask. Sam's eyes even darted to the rifle in the seat with him, Alamo and Buckshot.

Dean eased the truck to a stop, the lights illuminating the pipe gate fence, yard and rock and wrought iron sculpture of the Greer Wounded Heart Ranch. Without even waiting for the truck to come to a full stop, Celia kicked open her door and slid out, snapping it shut behind her and walking through the dense rain in the bare glow of the headlights as she headed for the gate to unchain it.

Dean tensed, knowing Sam well enough to brace for what was coming.

No.

"Sam, I saw black in her eyes, too." Dean growled, deciding for once to beat Sam to the punch and dominate the conversation. "I'm not stupid or blind."

"She got upset-"

"And the demon took advantage of her, preyed on her emotions, just like any other demon. But Sam you have to get it that there was red in the black, too. She wasn't acting completely on her own and neither was the demon."

Sam chewed his bottom lip.

"Sam, you better figure out that this girl is far from innocent or harmless herself."

"Dean-"

"I don't think she'll go after you again, just don't be in a room alone with her."

Sam started, "We're not leaving?" The younger Winchester was sure that Dean would have wanted to bolt.

Dean shook his head, not speaking as he put the truck back into gear and eased into the yard, careful to avoid the Impala on the flat bed and steer into the yard near the stable and barn. Celia walking along side the Silverado to pull open the barn door.

"Dean stop!"

The elder was already slamming his foot down on the breaks as a startled horse lunged in front of his path.

"The hell?" Dena muttered, putting the truck in park and quickly following Sam out of the truck.

"What is hellfire?" Celia muttered, her eyes were flying around the yard as several different horses of different ages nervously jostled around the yard, trying to stick together but leaping out of the way and breaking into a panicked gallop into the dark before rushing back.

"Red, did they get out?" Sam muttered.

"They ain't mine…wait…" Her eyes lighted on a large blue roan mare that seemed to be trying to keep the rest of the small band together. "That's that mare…" She said quietly. Stepping around, not honestly caring about being completely soaked all over again. The packing in little group of horses lurched, scattering and Celia risked injury harassing and jogging after the blue roan mare to get a better look at her.

"FUCK!" Celia screamed suddenly, startling everyone. Dean and Sam both tensed stiffly and the five horses spooked, racing to gather back up around the blue mare again.

Celia stormed over to the neared empty paddock along the main yard and hauled open the gate. A sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by short backed commands. Buckshot and Valentine crashed out of the truck and hurtled towards the band of horses and with a few terrified nickers and squeals drove them into the paddock, Celia kicked the gate closed and chained it shut after the five of them.

She jogged across the yard, yanked her tail gate down and dug out a coiled lariat from her tack.

Her eyes flicked, pleadingly to the brothers.

"Follow me." She said it, somewhere between a coax, plead and command. Her hands working alone she fit the lariat loop into place, naturally giving it a few twirls of ingrained movement. Dean honestly couldn't help the way he noticed how natural it seemed for her. The lasso swirled, humming until she caught it in her hand again and started towards the paddock where the five strange horses crowed at one end of the pen. She ducked between the bars of the pipe fencing and started towards the nervous horses.

Dean and Sam hesitated before each reluctantly stepped forward.

"Stay there." She commanded quietly as the brothers came up on one side of the fence. Celia took her eyes off them and locked them on the blur roan mare. She stepped forward, scattering the group and cutting out the mare, dogged her down and whirling the lasso loop over her head tossed it. Roping the mare around the throat and hauled back hard.

The mare squealed in terror, swinging around to face Celia and hauled back, skirting her hooves over the earth.

Celia again wrapped the rope around her arm and hauled back. "Get ready!"

The brother tensed as Celia slacked up the rope and allowed the nervous mare to back towards the fencing where Dean and Sam waited.

Celia crowed the mare up towards the fence.

"She's gonna try and haul, just ground yerselves and grab the rope."

The mare skipped backwards, snorting and squealing as Celia continued to crowd her. She jerked violently when her warm flesh contacted with the rain frozen metal of the fencing. She shrieked, the noise making Sam and Dean flinch. In a blur as the mare reared back against the fencing, trying to bolt. Celia gave an expert toss, the rope slinging across the mare's shoulder and down her flank, Dean snagged the rope over her shoulder and Sam the rope stretched under her flank and belly.

"Pull!"

Both brother leaned their weight back and jumped when flesh smacked into metal. The mare whinnied in terror but froze, completely pinned to the pipe fencing. Dean and Sam secured their slick grip, wrapping the slack of the rope around their hands and wrists and leaned their weight back further.

"Not to hard now." Celia called over the mare's back. "Easy, sister, easy." She smoothed and stepped forward, running her hands over the mares large belly, feeling all across her barrel, under her chest and gut, pushing up just slightly on the mares distended stomach.

Dean and Sam cast looked at each other and waited patiently, their hands and arms starting to ache in strain and shivering in cold and wet.

The mare heaved out terrified breaths, rushing out of her nose and her head jerking around towards Celia as far as it could, ears pinned back in fear.

"Easy, baby." Celia assured, not really paying attention to the blue roan mare. Celia continued her examination, rubbing her hands over the mare's barrel and sides.

Her teeth were grit so tight Dean was sure her jaw was locked. She loosened the lasso and stepped back.

"Let go! Turn her loose!"

Dean and Sam instantly let go of the rope and stepped back, the mare bolted, her flesh sliding across the pipe fencing as she lunged away to get to he rest of the small group. Celia collected her rope and tossed it back into her gear in the truck bed. She looked absolutely fit to be tied, her eyes blazing red. She haphazardly hauled open the trailer doors and hauled down the ramp.

She hauled herself up into the air ride. In a few seconds The first of the four horses backed out in a rush. Ceasefire snorted nervously but jerked when Celia's hand let go of him, turned and bolted towards the barn on his own. And Celia let him go. The same thing happened with Cottoneye Cloud, then Topmoon Goldfinch. The slender filly, nickered nervously but followed her elders. The volume of Celia's cussing pitched and she backed Honeycatcher down the ramp and into the muddy earth. She hauled his head around and tugged him towards the paddock and the brothers. The cremello stud looked confused, his ears pinned back until the blue roan mare whinnied loudly at him. Honeycatcher's head jerked up ears flung forward and eyes wide. He let out a disbelieving snort of air, answered by five different nickers in return. Honeycatcher let out the most overjoyed, earsplitting whinny any horse could make.

Mid cry Celia hauled his head around so she could glare at him in the eye. Honeycatcher looked confused and unsure, ears perked at her.

"Yeah! Ya hear that! Yer goddamn stolen band! Came here looking for ya!"

Honeycatcher nickered happily. She gave his head a jerk in place.

"NO! That mare is fuckin' heavy! Ya goddamn son of a bitch!"

Honeycatcher's eyes, flicked nervously between her and the paddock where the five horses were pressed into the fence, trying to get at the cremello stud.

"Yeah, guess how far along?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Honeycatcher made a thin, nervous nicker.

"'Bout four or five months, 'bout the same time ya started runnin' off."

Honeycatcher's hooves shuffled a little, eyes darting around until they came back to Celia. His lips drew back, teeth grit in a guilty grin.

"Oh yer just charmin'." Celia snarled, jerking his head around to the gate, yanked it open and shoved him through. "Get in there and take care of business! And keep yer goddamn pride tucked!"

Celia slammed the gate closed, chaining it and cursing continuously, ignoring the relatively happy reunion going on in the paddock between Honeycatcher and his stolen family.

Dean and Sam watched Celia stalk across the yard to the truck, snarling violently and throwing the lasso into the other gear. The brothers glanced at each other, piecing together the conversation Celia had just had with one of her horses about his possible illegitimate offspring. Sam sighed and started forward, reaching for a saddle.

"Sam just…don't…just back off." Celia snapped. The younger Winchester stepped back instantly, waiting a few seconds then turning and walking around to at least shut the truck cab doors, he lifted Alamo gently off the driver's seat and eased the senior dog down to the earth. The three dogs and Sam started for the porch and door to the Greer home. Dean followed, the small group stopping and shaking as much mud and water off themselves as possible before stepping into the kitchen. Dean hesitated, looking back at Celia, miserable in the rain and unloading her gear alone. Dean's renewed distrust and anger was nudged aside to make room for a small curl of pity in his stomach, he sighed heavily and stepped into the kitchen.

…

Dean pushed himself up then off the couch, shaking off a half night's sleep that was nothing but nightmares and headaches. Shivering at the cold wood then stone under his bare feet. The fog of his mind slowly cleared, giving way to memories and emotions that slammed into him like a ten foot wave and instantly causing a head ache. The mild euphoria of accomplishment in the ring, terror of Celia's collapse, pride in Sam's behavior with Jamie Freeman, the blossoming affection for Celia at the party, then the anger and betrayal that dug a pit in his gut when Celia pulled a gun on Sam. The ache grew, pounding in his temples even after a heated and hushed argument with Sam over the drive of Celia's behavior, what to do about the job they came to Tuscarora for in the first place and how to severe the quarter century long bond between Celia and the demon using her as a refuge.

A rushed and burning hot shower last night didn't ease the tension on Dean's body as he was pounded mentally and physically with whirling thoughts and scattered emotions. He nearly ran into Celia on exiting, both jerking back a step to avoid contact, both dripping wet and miserable. Dean hated the way that Celia flinched away from him and wouldn't look him in the eye. A knot of anger settled into the pit, he didn't like anything being afraid of him, unless he was trying to kill the son of a bitch. Celia's submissive behavior should have wracked him with guilt but he couldn't help the rage that built up in his stomach at the way that Celia cringed away from him. He hated her for it, passed out on the couch the night before with all that piled negativity left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dean shook his head, trying to break free of the chaotic memories in his mind and shuffled across the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and sniffed. He tensed, the bitter, metallic scent of blood flooded his senses. Dean bristled, going on the defense as he stalked towards the open oak door and gently nudged the screen door open to the gray dawn, his green eyes scanning around. Dean let out a tightly held breath and relaxed just a little. Shivering all over again as he stepped onto the porch, the icy wood stinging the bottoms of his bare feet. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trying to trap in body heat to his frame.

"Morning." He said quietly, easing himself down into one of the porch chairs. He curled up instinctively into the bark stripped and carved wood and the thick plush cushions, crossing his legs and still hugging himself.

Her red eyes flicked to him, she hesitated searching for some sort of trap before speaking carefully. "Mornin', Dean." She even managed to give him a weak smile before returning to the bloody work in front of her.

"When did you take him?" Dean asked, he was trying to test the waters. A night long and dream world of hating Celia didn't settle well with his stomach, he disliked it almost as much as he disliked Celia for stepping around him like he was some rabid dog.

"Couple hours ago, four thirty or five." Celia said making a final, careful slice of her knife into the flesh and extracted the cut. She carefully set the bloody flank cut on the wax paper stretched over the top of the veranda railing next to other bloody butchered meat. Dean's eyes rest on the fat marbled meat before returning his eyes to the kill. It was a buck mule deer, trophy with eight points on each antler. The gray brown fur sleek, almost silver in some places. The buck's large brown eyes were clouded white in death and a single trickle of blood rolled down the lifeless ear to drip onto the porch and pooling into the already drained blood there.

"Worried about staining the deck?"

"Not really." Celia said, setting to work on cutting free more muscle.

The buck was strung up, hanging from the ankles by a rope. Celia must have field gutted the animal to make it lighter, but a glance at the butchered meat and Dean could see the heart and liver next to normal muscle cuts sitting on the wax paper. Celia knew what she was doing. A bloodied pair of shear scissors Celia had been using to cut through bone was sitting next to several different knives. She had partially skinned the buck, making it easier to cut meat away from the kill. And she wasted nothing. The meat was practically shorn from the bone, larger and heavier than the slices a butcher made where half the steer would probably be left over as 'stew meat' or waste. It was sick to think of it that way, but it was almost done artfully.

Dean's chair was directly next to the strung up buck, he could have easily reached out to pet the fur of the stiff side or if her stretched, run his fingers over the tines of the antlers.

He took his eyes off the buck and looked at the woman. Her hands and arms were literally soaked in blood; it dripped off of her elbows. A little splatter on her clothes but nothing that couldn't be easily washed out. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail between her horns. Dean's eyes roamed over the curved, textured horns; stopping on the ugly, snarled gash torn into the outer of the left side horn. He wondered if it had been painful.

"Why did you go for Sam?"

Celia stopped moving for a few seconds, blinking slowly before setting back to working on the kill. Dean stayed silent, waiting for her to continue without his help.

"I lost my mind-"

Dean snorted loudly, narrowing his eyes dangerously at her. He felt rage bubble up into his calm demeanor, throwing silent warnings at Celia dare not to bull shit him.

"I _did_, Dean. Sam's is supposed to be one of my best friends, hell a brother…he's supposed to be on _my_ side not one of those…" She trailed, unable to find the right curse and trying to calm her quickly raising voice. She shivered a little, "…Sammy's _not_ supposed to be one of them."

"Sam didn't choose to have visions." Dean said calmly, letting her explanation settle in and make sense in him mind.

"_I know! _I know. I just… it hurt. I was so hurt, so heartbroken I got lost. Saw red and everythin' in me just screamed to get rid of it. Sam wasn't 'Sam', he was an 'it'. Didn't really exist. I lashed out…I'm glad ya were there to talk me down. I couldn't live with havin' hurt Sammy."

"No, probably not." The warning and intention in his voice clear. Celia didn't hide her flinch at his words very well.

Celia heaved a deep sigh. "I'm surprised yer still talkin' to me."

Dean hesitated, thinking for a few seconds. "I know you wouldn't hurt Sam." Dean let what he meant hang unsaid and understood. Celia sighed a little but said nothing.

"What does 'M'amin' mean? It stopped you cold last night."

"Appaloosa." Celia responded immediately. Dean looked a little startled at the sharpness of her voice.

"'Appaloosa'. Like the horse."

"Yes, like the horse." Celia cropped herself from snapping at him. Dean noted the change in her demeanor and behavior. His eyebrow cocked in interest.

"What does that mean to you?"

She said nothing.

"Celia."

"It my name: M'amin Payo. Nez Perce for 'Appaloosa Crow'. 'Celia' is the name Nathaniel gave me. I wasn't born with it. When I hear it I freeze up and listen. Same way Sam does when someone hollers 'Samuel' at him. Just the way it is Dean." The finality in her voice cleared that Dean wasn't supposed to ask anything more on the subject. Dean's eyes returned to the animal.

"It's a good buck." Dean personally disliked game hunting. He had enough killing done and to be done in his life time. He didn't need to kill animals on top of that.

"In season, too." Celia quietly jumped on the change of subject more than willingly. "I'm not much of a trophy girl, but I'm going to have Tony Gonzales mount him for me." Celia freed another thick flank cut and set it aside with the rest on the wax paper.

"Meaty." Dean muttered, curling up and hugging himself tighter.

"And fatty, too." She motioned with the bloody, hunting Bowie knife in her hands towards a bucket filled with blood and stripped fat. Dean wrinkled his nose at the offensive bucket, swallowing thickly.

"Whats that for?"

"Bury it later."

Dean sighed and looked around. Her answer made sense. At least that's what he wanted to believe. Deep in his gut he knew it was Celia but always at the fore front of his mind was the black in her eyes. He banked on it, slowly but surely convincing himself over and over that it wasn't Celia. It was the demon, the monster using her. He soaked in every tiny behavior that supported what he wanted to believe. Her transition from out going and blunt to timidly apologetic, giving him and Sam wide berths and while staying standoffish in Dean's case, which he preferred, she had fawned apologetically on Sam, making him sweet coffee and pushed on him a bun made of apple and glazed in maple syrup and sugar. Dean had stayed out of the way, listening intently from just out of sight while Celia apologized over and over, Sam assured her it was fine over and over and listened to the conversation the followed. To private for even Dean's ears. Jessica, John, Nathaniel, Elijah, Madison…all of it loss or fear of it. Dean's name was mention more than once by both of them.

It all fed into what Dean wanted, hoped and secretly prayed for. His trust was broken, betrayal stricken Dean was setting himself up for a serious weak spot. His father's rule number one, don't leave yourself open. Dean was disregarding it and was full aware of his actions.

Dean was far from self-centered. He rarely thought of himself first, straining to a point of sheer exhaustion to take care of those around him. But this…he was risking a lot to be selfish. He was self-destructive like that.

"Need any help?" He hoped she would say no.

Celia glanced sideways at him, "Ya can help me haul it all into the deep freeze after it's wrapped up."

Dean nodded in assurance. She twisted the knife, slicing through fat and membrane tissue keeping the pelt in place on the buck, skinning the hide back further and twisting to cut into the rump muscle.

"Alright." Dean muttered, taking his eyes off her work and noticing her fleece and suede coat draped over the chair next to his. Dean stretched, snatched up the coat and draped it around himself, burrowing himself down into the fleece lining. Nosing around a little Dean felt the majority of his personal belongings still in the pockets, he'd have to move them back to his leather coat soon…unless he could somehow steal the fleece and suede jacket from Celia.

The unreadable scent he's pin pointed in the fleece was stronger as he dug his face into the turned collar. Must have been Celia's personal scent, the fleece and suede was still warm.

"It's cold out." Dean muttered, shivering at his statement. The menial conversation like a thin tread and needle, hesitating then moving with her words and behavior to carefully stitch his shattered trust back together. He wasn't a great Chess player, better at Risk and Checkers and even then a pretty poor player. But life strategy was one of his strongest traits and he was exhausting it.

"Great observation, Sherlock." Celia teased, relaxed enough to do so. Her breath was clouding around her face, the same as Dean's was. The elder Winchester, relaxing for the first time since the highway incident.

"You're kind of a bitch."

"And yer kind of a bastard." She returned, freeing a large, fat marbled rump cut, setting it aside. Dean smiled at her playful grin.

"This is a desert."

"Didn't pay attention in geography class, huh? Deserts get hot in the day and freezin' at night. Sub temperatures in dead winter. We get snow all the time. Utah's only a hundred miles for here or so." Celia stepped around to the other side of the buck, getting back to work. "Sides, what do ya expect in the fall?"

Dean thought for a second. "It is September, isn't it?"

"Yesterday was Labor Day." Celia sliced away the second rump cut and set it aside, dropping her Bowie and stretching and fisting her hand before picking up the shears. She nudged the pelt out of the way and with gut turning snaps and crunches cut through the dead buck's rib cage, breaking out the rib cuts of venison.

Dean shut his eyes and stayed quiet while she worked, flinching a little each time a bone snapped. He got a breath in before she started in on the other side. Dean's jaw clenched and he held his breath until the sound stopped all together. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't think I like ribs anymore." He joked somewhat sourly.

"Ya never had much stomach for huntin' and butcher, Dean. Not that I remember." Celia's light hearted tone was clearly teasing him. "Wouldn't bat an eye on shootin' a skinwalker in the face but couldn't pull the trigger on a whitetail."

"You don't shoot a skinwalker in the face." Dean corrected. Celia rolled her eyes heavenward and squatted, sitting back on her boot heels and starting to skin back the rest of the pelt.

"Come help me a second, Dean." She coaxed, casting a hopeful look at him. Dean watched her for a few seconds before reluctantly leaving his cocoon of warmth and stepped around the blood on the porch. Celia smiled gratefully.

"Just grab the edge of the hide there and pull, real smooth."

Dean did as she instructed, tugging gently in a steady rhythm while Celia used the Bowie knife to cut under the hide, slicing through tissue, membrane and connective fat. In a few minuets Dean was left holding the majority of the pelt in his hands and Celia cut through the fur and hide at the base of the neck, leaving the pelt over the neck and head of the buck for mounting.

Once the pelt was completely free Dean gave it an experimental shake.

"Just over the bare rail, Dean, fur down. I'll tan it later." Celia motioned with her bloody hand and knife. Dean draped the bloody curtain over the rail then stepped back, shaking his hands and knowing they probably smelled like blood, fat and the remains of mule deer musk. The elder Winchester retreated back to his chair, folding and nesting himself under her coat again.

"Thanks." Celia twisted to rub her sweat slicked face across her shoulder before returning to butchering the buck.

"Your family eat a lot of venison?"

"Buck and beef, in the summer fish, too."

"Anything you can take off the land, huh?"

She nodded.

"You guys needed a restock?"

"Not really, but like I said, this family lives off beef and venison. Never want to be caught without. And this trophy walked right in front of me on my patrol." She shrugged, separating a massive shoulder cut from the bone and setting it aside. "And it's season so why the hell not. Family's comin' home tomorrow anyway, the need for food with triple in a few a few hours."

"When? When tomorrow?"

"'Round dinner, I'm cookin' I guess."

"Do you want some help?"

Celia stopped what she was doing and looked up at him.

"What?"

"Impala's goin' to be fixed by tonight."

Dean blinked, "What?"

"Joey Rush called me soon as he got back in town, stopped over in Elko to pick up the parts." She motioned towards where Dean had gotten used to seeing a flatbed heavily laden with the Impala. It was gone. Dean panicked, lunging to his feet.

"Where's my baby!?!"

"Calm down, Dean."

"No! Where-"

"I just told ya, Joey gave me a holler this morning, came over and picked her up. She's down at his shop gettin' a new fuel line. Its fine Dean."

"No! I didn't approve!" Dean felt the hard worked stitching of his trust ripping apart in a hurry.

"Dean." Her voice was calm and stern. "Joey does work on my truck that I cain't. Works on my Daddy's cars, anythin' me or Eli cain't do he does it. I trust him, alright? He'll take care of the Impala. Fact of the matter he was droolin' all over that car when he saw her, old heart nearly stopped."

Dean looked panicked between her and the empty space in the yard.

He sank down into the chair, weak in the knees suddenly.

"She'll be done by tonight and ya and Sammy can hit the road."

Dean blinked, shaking himself out of his daze.

"We're not leaving yet."

Celia puffed, as if going to start and argument then deflated. Deciding to save her energy, in all honesty, she didn't want them to leave.

"Celia, we came here to do a job. We're not leaving until it's done."

Celia bristled, looking hurt. "Just another Hunt, huh? Ya'll take off as soon as yer done." It was al said emotionlessly, but it was all too easy for Dean to pick out the sharp pain in her voice.

"No." Dean pushed, reining in the aggressive urge to argue and kept his voice down, "You know that's bull."

Celia sighed but said nothing, cutting into the buck and clearly not wanting to talk about it. Dean sighed heavily; he needed to get the situation back under control.

"What do you have to do today?"

"Chores, don't have patrol now that most of the town's back in again. Clean the place up a little and head out to the market up in Elko to restock the stuff we need." She said it all absently.

"Can I come to the store?"

…

Dean spent the rest of the morning in Celia's shadow easing the tension between them with casual conversation, off-color jokes and demonstrative action. Helping her wrap and pack away the butchered venison, grained and watered livestock, inventory of hay, medications and feed, even helped clean up the yard and muck out stalls and repair some pieces of destroyed fence that Honeycatcher's rouge band had taken out when they invaded the Wounded Heart Ranch. Dean more than once passed by the paddock were Honeycatcher and his little family casually grazed. Once or twice Honeycatcher stuck his muzzle through the pipe fencing to nip at Dean. He was soaked in sweat and exhausted before he even got a cup of coffee or breakfast.

The elder Winchester trudged up the steps into the kitchen, letting the three dogs out as he went in and collapsed into the nearest chair at the table. The t-shirt, hoodie and jeans he'd changed into streaked with mud, dust and animal slobber.

Sam's head lifted from the laptop where he was researching feverishly. Currently in a conversation on his Treo.

"Yeah, alright, thanks Jo." He cut off the line, setting his Treo aside. "Ellen's not at the Roadhouse."

Dean blinked tiredly and looked up at him, then nodded slowly with a massive yawn.

"Dean, I need more to work with on this, I can't find what I need. Not enough reference-"

Sam dropped off the conversation when Celia trooped into the kitchen, stripping off her Stetson and leather gloves.

"Mornin' Sam." She said with a smile.

The younger Winchester blinked, looking little startled at her light hearted tone.

"Morning." Sam returned, glancing at Dean for help. His elder brother was slumped back against his chair, arms crossed across his chest and eyes shut.

"Thanks for helpin' me out, Dean. Went real fast with yer help." Celia gently swatted Dean's shoulder with her gloves.

The elder Winchester grunted, unmoving and eyes still shut.

"Ya boys hungry?" Celia twisted the faucet on and scrubbed the dirt and the last of the mule deer blood off her hands, shutting it off and crossing to the refrigerator and pulled it open, standing back to survey what was stocked in the fridge.

"A little." Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I've got nothin' really. I can make a venison omelet."

Dean made a sickly noise. Celia snorted a little, a cropped laugh.

Sam's eyes flew between Dean and Celia for a few seconds. "Sure, sounds alright."

"Alright."

Dean groaned a little and stated to shove himself up out of the chair. Celia reached over and pushed him back down.

"I've got some ground in here, Dean." Celia assured, reaching into the freezer and pulling free a square of frozen ground venison wrapped in wax paper. She slipped out a small wood box and carried both to the counter next to the stove, kicking the refrigerator door closed behind her. Dean mumbled and slumped back into the chair.

"Damn, Dean the way yer moanin' and groanin' ya think ya never worked like that before." Celia teased.

Sam was still having a hard time trying to catch up. Last night he and Celia had worked out their end of the incident, but afterwards she had still acted like a struck dog, cringing and whimpering in shame. She hadn't dared approach Dean. He must have missed a lot for them to have reconciled in one morning.

Dean muttered something, but looked ready to fall asleep.

Celia set to work, pulling out a skillet and stripping the ground meat, setting it in the center of the quickly heating metal to brown and melt out. The little wooden box was lined in clean straw and filled with brown and speckled eggs. She extracted a glass mixing bowl from a shelf and cracked a few large eggs into the bowl and stirred them with a fork, adding salt and pepper and a little milk into the bowl. Setting it side to work on the cooking meat, shredding it in the pan and pouring the eggs over the top. She replaced the wooden box in the refrigerator, glancing at Sam, once again engrossed in his research.

"What are ya workin' on Sam?" She asked. The younger Winchester jumped a little and looked up at her, some what startled.

"Some research." He said vaguely, getting a small look from Celia of concern.

"Hey, Celia, can Sam use Nathaniel's journal?" Dean asked suddenly. Getting a terrified look from his younger sibling and a cocked eyebrow from Celia. "He wouldn't shut up about it yesterday and is kind of a coward about asking for it." Dean tacked on the explanation casually.

Celia looked between the brothers, clearly trying to figure out what they were up to. "Sure, fact I'll do ya one better." Celia said after a minute. She motioned for them to follow, turning the heat down on the stove and led the two brothers down the hall and into the only room neither brother had stepped foot in. She turned the knob and pushed it open, flicking on the light.

"This is Nathaniel's study. Just promise me ya'll put everythin' back and respect it." Celia stepped back and let the brothers pass into the room. One wall of windows looked directly out onto the eastern paddocks and fence line, another wall was shelves from the floor to the ceiling packed with collected books of all shapes, sizes, languages bound in different colored leather. Among the books were other ominous items. Carved and rune covered curse boxes, mojo bags, totems, amulets in glass cases, trinkets and items made out of supernatural origins and things Dean and Sam couldn't place. The wall was like an archive of the unnatural world. The other wall was a missive open display of weaponry, everything from firearms to blades and unusual weaponry like bull whips, bolos, stars and numerous others. A few steel filing cabinets, plants, a plush couch, oaken desk laden with a computer and dusty stacked paperwork and photographs of friends, family and hunts oddly big game and supernatural creatures broke up the weponry and books. Dean took double take at a pair of photos next to each other, one depicting Nathaniel Greer displaying a massive bull elk and the other the same man sporting something that Dean was sure was a chupacabra.

It was like a master control room for a Hunter.

"Whoa." Sam muttered looking around wide eyed.

"Help yerself. If ya were lookin' for somethin' in particular I could probably point ya in the right direction." Celia offered.

"Bestiaries?" Sam asked, setting his laptop onto the end cushion of the couch.

"English, that shelf." Celia pointed at a row of books three shelves up from the floor.

"Demonologies?" Sam asked, already searching the titles of the bestiaries.

"Right there." Celia motioned towards three shelves midway up the wall towards the door. "Anythin' else?"

She got no response.

"Sam?"

He muttered something, already engrossed in a thick book of small, handwritten words.

"Alright." Celia smiled slightly, still carefully walking the boarder between exile and friendship. "Make sure everythin' gets back where it belongs."

She slipped back out the door and left the brothers alone. Dean watched her back before going straight to the demonologies. He scanned the titles, waiting for something to leap out at him. His eyes were almost bleary looking through the titles until he noticed the first without any kind of printing on the binding. Dean tugged it out. Scanning the cracked and breaking leather and stitching. He ran his hand over the dry surface before gently opening it to the first page He blinked, startled at the photograph looking back at him.

Nathaniel Greer. Black hair allowed to grow out around his ears and a light smile on his handsome face. He was sitting back in a truck bed, next to John Winchester, Dean's father was grinning proudly as clustered around the two fathers were their children. Elijah Greer, the spitting image of his father, standing and leaning against the dropped tail gate in the fore ground. A nine year old Dean, Five year old Sam and seven year old Celia collapsed playfully in their fathers' laps. Bright eyed and…innocent. It was the only word Dean could think of, as far from the truth it probably was. Dean brushed his fingers over the glossy photo, before turning the page to find it filled with handwriting. Dean read the first few sentences, his eyes going wide before he snapped the book shut and slipped it under his shirt as Celia slipped back in, balancing two large plates of venison omelet and Nathaniel's journal from her truck. She handed the journal and one plate to Dean and whistled to get Sam's attention to turn over the other plate. She nodded at their thanks and started back out of the room.

"Dean, heading out in fifteen."

The elder nodded, scooping a large forkful of omelet into his mouth. He glanced at Sam, shrugging off the questioning look in his little brother

"Goin' to the store." Dean mumbled, shifting to keep the book pressed tightly to his stomach until he got a chance to stash it in his duffle bag to read later.

…

"Sam you sure you don't want to come?" Dean said loudly, making sure that Celia could hear him down the hall. Dean's facial expression screamed more to same than those few words. The form of silent communication that the two brothers had accomplished since Sam was in his toddler years.

"No, I'm fine. I want to keep working on this. I'll do it better on my own anyway." Sam staged, turning the laptop around among the numerous open books and files he'd extracted from the steel cabinets. Sam had been ecstatic to find that one cabinet was full of copies of Nathaniel's case files from the police department and the second full of hand written and designed files of Nathaniel's own making of each and every Hunt he'd participated in. Including a half finished one that was clearly his last.

Dean glanced at the screen and soaking in the webpage titles 'Shuka Waken' on Wikipedia of all sites, which after several rapid and successive searches and fevered typing Sam found as his only thread of information about the demon that Nathaniel and John had written out as 'Shikoaka'. 'Shuka Waken' was, evidently, the correct spelling and linguistic relation of what Sam assumed was the phonic 'Shikoaka'. Dean's eyes scanned the etching, it looked something like a tribal etching, similar design to a painted mask.

It was a white wolf, overlarge teeth and claws, a set of ram's horns that were split halfway in the growth to something alike to a pronghorn rack, a set of fused horns. The white fur was marked with stripe of red, painted like some Native American warrior and sporting strings of beads and rocks around the throat, accompanying one large necklace made of small animal and human skulls.

"You sure?" Dean nodded, pushing Sam to keep working as he tugged the leather coat up his arms and over his shoulders.

"Yeah." Sam assured, waving him off, spinning the laptop back around and setting back to work.

Dean nodded and slipped out of the door and down the hall. Sam waited his hands poised over the laptop and his Treo, waiting until he heard the door swing shut, the engine of the Silverado roar to life, then rumbled out of ear shot. In a flurry of movement Sam extracted a file and pulled up a Google search. He typed the number on the search into his Treo and waited for the call to go through.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi. Is this Harmony Hernandez?"

"_It is. How can I help you, Sam?"_

The younger Winchester jumped a little, he was still having a hard time getting used to the way that a psychic could dip into and dominate a conversation so easily.

"Yeah, you probably know why I'm calling. Do you remember an Officer Nathaniel Greer?"

"_How could I forget? Are you calling about him, Sam?"_

"No. His daughter."

…

Dean pushed the shopping cart, walking docilely on Celia's heels while she went over her list and put things into the swiftly growing pile in the basket; collecting everything that the Greers own livestock or bartering from the neighbors couldn't provide. It was strange to do something so menial as grocery shopping and Dean felt out of place, but it wasn't entirely unenjoyable. His eyes flicked around at the shelves of groceries and the normalcy of the world around him. Just any day at the Elko City SunFresh. Dean's eyes lighted on Celia. She looked so normal it was strange. Dressed casually in worn jeans, a supposedly vintage gray and red tee shirt reading **Bare Back Jack's Bar and Grill; Casper, Wyoming**, with a bucking bronco and rider among the words. Dean couldn't be sure that it wasn't a real place and decided that if he was ever in Casper he'd try to look the place up. Her white, light brown and chocolate tennis shoes different from her normal hiking and work boots made her seem smaller, daintier even. And the bandanna tied around her head obscuring her horns from the general public. Dean's assumptions about the general populace was assured again that people only saw what they wanted to see. The bandanna was less than good cover, her red hair allowed to hang loose around her shoulders, Dean could easily see the stretches in the fabric where the six inch ram's horns grew out of her skull. Maybe it was because Dean was aware of the horns that made them more obvious to him, but no one in the store looked twice at Celia.

Dean jumped when a jars of creamy peanut butter crashed loudly into the grocery basket.

"Ya alright, Dean?" Celia looked over her shoulder at him, catching his jerk. Dean blinked at her, shrugged a little and when her back was turned reached up and pulled down small jars of apple butter and marmalade. He added it to six or seven other snuck items into the basket at Celia's back, each one of Dean or Sam's favorites. Celia saw and noticed every one of the items but didn't bother to extract them. The Winchester brothers got few luxuries. A few treats outside of their normally fast food based diets was fine with Celia.

Dean glanced around, leaning heavily over and bracing his arms across the handle bar of the shopping cart, moving it more with is forward motion than actually pushing it. Dean made notes of dreary husbands following timidly on the heels of bossy wives and fell back on that age old assumption of 'poor bastards'. Dean didn't associate his own, current behavior with theirs, as similar as their positions were. Dean reflected on his free-bird lifestyle that would exploded violently with the addition of a silver SUV, cookie cutter house in the burbs and two point five kids.

No, that was Sam's thing, not his.

He glanced at Celia as she studied massive bags of whole bean and ground coffee. Dean looked between her and himself.

_Wonder if we look like newlyweds…_

Celia selected a five pound bag of whole beans and dropped it into the cart. Dean eyed a bag of a particular hazelnut blend, sighed quietly and pushed on passed Celia.

She noticed the behavior, reached passed him and snagged the bag, dropping it in with her other groceries. Dean snorted and reached to take the coffee back out.

"Touch it and ya'll loose somethin' important to ya."

Dean's hand jerked back like the coffee was a live wire. He looked up at Celia, she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.

"Don't touch my food. Whats in the basket, stays in the basket. No matter what."

Dean blinked at her for a few seconds, understanding slipping into his mind and he managed a thin smile. With a roll of his eyes continuing on her heels, helping when he was commanded. Reaching things that were a high over Celia's head, holding plastic bags she filled with fruits, vegetables or other things.

Dean helped the teenage sacker at the checker out while Celia paid and checked the list of items on her receipt. Dean pushed the heavy basket out of the SunFresh and across the parking lot towards the white Silverado looming along side several other SUVs, Jeeps and 'big three' pick-up trucks.

Feeling a little playful Dean broke into a jog, pushing the grocery cart into a rush. Picking up speed, Dean hoped the weight was mostly in the front of the cart and leaped onto the cart. Dean felt a spike of terror as he caught his balance before he could enjoy the ride, rattling and rolling along for a several yard before dropping back off the cart at a jog, checking his pace, slowing down the cart and getting control again. He glanced back at Celia. His nose wrinkled, she was walking at a casual pace half a parking lot away.

Dean waited some what impatiently next to the Silverado while Celia walked up then took her good sweet time unlocking the cab. Dean helped her put groceries in the back seat, then hoisted heavy purchases up to her to put into the truck bed while she balanced onto top of the rear wheel.

"Alright, that's it." Celia said setting a massive container of liquid laundry detergent along side with several gallons of milk to supplement the six dairy cows on the Wounded Heart Ranch. The Greers were beef cattle breeders, milk wasn't their specialty.

Celia started to ease herself down from on top of the tire. Dean hands lifted instinctively to brace her back and sides, helping her down and nudging her around to face him once her feet were on the earth. Dean felt his heart thud a little behind his ribs as Celia looked up at him through her eyelashes. Dean was startled by the pull he felt towards those two pools of blood.

Celia cleared her throat and gently nudged passed Dean towards the driver's seat. Dean smiled and jogged around to his place in the passenger seat.

The three hour drive back to Tuscarora and the Wounded Heart Ranch was filled with casual chatter and arguments about classical rock, country and blues music. Their relationship relaxed almost completely. Sam was right, they were to much alike to work things out by talking. They needed to work from action and reaction, avoiding the situation all together worked for them.

Dean was happy to help Celia unload the groceries once they pulled back into the drive, neither really noticing the silver sedan half hidden next to the barn, heavily laden with paper bags they laughed casually, making smart comments to each other about acting like parents and providers. Finally collecting everything from the truck and settling it onto the kitchen table for sorting and putting away.

Celia snagged a small box of soap bars and with a backwards look at Dean started out of the kitchen, laughing at a remark he called after her. The laugh died in her throat as she stopped dead in the living room conjoined to the stairs and hall down to the towel closet.

"Red." Sam quickly stood up from his place on the sofa, setting his cup of coffee aside. Across from him on the love seat and plush chair two women rose from their positions, setting down their own coffees. Both were Latino, dark hair tied back elegantly from round faces. The older of the two women, middle aged at best, was heavy set. The other, a little younger than Celia herself, was slender framed and had all the right curves. Both women were dressed in bright colors, the elder in a dress and the younger in a flowing, fashionable top and designer jeans and heavy jewelry around their neck, wrists and hanging from their ears.

"Who are ya?" Celia said, keeping her eyes on the two strangers.

"Celia?" Dean called, breaking off from putting milk away and trotting into the hall to stand just behind her. His eyes flicked to Sam and then the two strangers.

"I'm Harmony Hernandez and this is my daughter, Marisol." The older of the two women said, her voice flowed with her accent, making it oddly attractive.

"What are ya doing' in my place?" Celia was starting to bristle, those names sounded familiar.

"Sam invited us-" Marisol Hernandez offered, her voice lacking the depth of the accent her mother had, thinned from American breeding.

"Well, as sweet a person Sam is, he don't have authority to invite ya into my home, much less on my property at all." Celia's eyes flashed to Sam, glaring at him dangerously. Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, clearly wanting to know what he was doing.

"Celia, I invited them to come here and talk to…provide some kind of…closure." Sam chose his words carefully.

"'Closure' for what?" Celia snarled, she was bristling.

"Well, after you went after me last night…" Sam swallowed. "I Just though talking to Mrs. And Ms. Hernandez could offer-" He was starting to ramble.

"What he means to say, dear." Harmony Hernandez put in gently lighting a hand on Sam's forearm. "Is that I am the psychic that had a vision that you're father, Nathaniel, was the only man that could find my Marisol. I asked him to work the case that he passed-"

She never finished her sentence.

* * *

**'Payo' is actually 'bird' in Nez Perce. I swear I couldn't find 'crow'. If anybody knows it drop me a line! Thanks! **

**Much Love Read and Review Please**


	28. Lilacs and Gun Powder

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Have fun at drill this weekend!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Twenty Eight: Lilacs and Gun Powder**

"**Flowers never emit so sweet and strong a fragrance as before a storm. When a storm approaches thee, be as fragrant as a sweet-smelling flower…"**

**- Jean Paul Richter**

…

"_Worst decision you have ever made Sam!"_

"_I was trying to help!"_

"_Are you stupid!?! No, you can't be stupid, this was insane! You can't have been in sound mind!"_

"_They aren't monsters, Dean! Red, you need to see that!"_

"_SAM! NO! You don't talk to her!"_

"_Dean, I'm right-"_

"_NO YOU AREN'T!"_

"_They aren't monsters! They're people!"_

"_Not to her!"_

Dean blinked, his mind still buzzing with the heated argument and struggle. His hands and arms were still aching, cramped. His right hand hurt the worst. He'd hated the grip he had to put on Celia to keep her from killing the two strangers in the room, then probably Sam on top of that. He had been sure then there would be no talking down or step backs. Dean had no doubt in his mind that she would have literally killed them.

The phantom feeling of Celia's throat and tongue moving around in his hand, the violent vibrations of her snarling. He'd gripped her under the jaw, his fingers had literally dug up into the underside of her jaw bone, wrenching her head back to rein her in, keep some weak form of physical control, like a bit in a horses' mouth.

The elder Winchester had hated every second of it. A part of him had actually wanted to turn the spiraling feral woman loose, let her have the vengeance in flesh that she wanted so badly, he sympathized. He felt the same way about the yellow eyed demon, his father and mother.

But letting the monster in Celia use her to commit murder was so disgusting it left a ugly, bloody taste in his mouth. One hand locked under her jaw, one arm across her stomach, lucky enough in her brief second of shock to trap her arms, cuffing her wrists and hauling her back into his chest. He became a living cage three sizes to small for the over large bobcat that was suddenly trying desperately to tear it apart. The noises that came from her practically crushed throat, due to his own grip, sounded like an unholy fight between demons and mountain lions, it wasn't a noise that was going to leave Dean's memory anytime soon.

Dean's sides and pelvis were blotched with bruises from the struggle that still ached. Remembering Dean sat back on his chair, reached down and gently prodded the blossoming areas of dark purple under his shirt. He bit back a hiss of pain, before slumping back over the scarred, wood table, looking longingly at the massive display of alcohol but avoiding it.

It had taken every ounce of strength Dean had to physically haul Celia across the kitchen, away from the Hernandez women and out onto the veranda, screaming at Sam the whole way. The situation had gotten even more desperate then, Celia had twisted in his grip, breaking the hold he had on her jaw and clawing at him had sobbed and begged for him to let her go, desperate to go back, blood for blood until Dean's cage like grip had changed from force to a comforting cradle, letting her cry hysterically into his shoulder.

The elder Winchester had never seen someone take so many spiraling turns into different emotions so rapidly, it had actually spun his head to a point that he couldn't keep track of what emotion occurred when. Before he could register what was actually happening, he'd been shoved back into the house, feeling the bite of stone and wood in his back, he shook himself and jerked forward, startled that he was chasing her out into the yard, not into the house. Dean barely had a few seconds to scramble into the Silverado before Celia was driving hard into the night.

An hour and a half down an off the map road and Celia haphazardly drove into the gravel lot of a highway side building, more like a hunting lodge made of thick natural rocks around the base and log cabin style timbers growing up into a peaked roof of black tiles. A wide wrap around veranda and large glass windows that were swung outwards to allow heat out and fresh air in. A massive wrought iron sculpture, acting as a sign read: The Bargest.

It had taken Dean all of five minuets to figure out that the bar was a Hunter hang out. He even noticed a few obscurely familiar faces from Harvelle's out in Nebraska.

Inside of the bar reflected the lodge portrayed outwards, wooden floors creaked with each step ad the walls were either cut stone or hatched logs. There were several mounted trophies on the wall, a couple of large racked mules deer, whitetails and a huge bull elk mount in a far back corner over a worn stuffed couches, chairs and a fire place. There were several black and white photographs, a couple of mounted Longhorn bulls and some worn saddlery. The bar counter was made of the same kind of natural stone outside of the house and topped with worn and polished hard wood. The back half of the bar was raised like a dais several feet higher than the main floor with a jukebox, several pool tables and dartboards to entertain patrons. A back hall leading to restrooms, several private normally locked doors and a stairwell that led up to a few rooms that road weary Hunters were welcome to and down stairs to a practical armory of generic and specialty ammunition, firearms and other weapons and supplies that Hunters had need of. And there was always an endless sea of information and gossip that could always steer someone to a new hunt.

But the pride and joy of the Bargest tavern was the massive mounted head of a Black Dog behind the bar. The mount was at least a hundred years old, maybe more and everyone believed it fake, even a few Hunters had problems believing the trophy. It was the size alike to a Kodiak bear, resembling one with more canine features. Thick black fur and massive glass eyes of opaque yellow-white, jaws half flung open, a tongue rolling out between huge teeth crowding the jaws, upper and lower canines curving well passed the lips in a boar like way. The mount suggested a Black Dog weighing at least seven hundred pounds, unheard of in the modern Hunter world where the largest boasted about barely two to three hundred pounds in the creature's native land of eastern Europe. According to Nevada and the Bargest legend it was shot and killed by Samuel Colt and Jessop Nightdog, the founder of the Bargest tavern a hundred years before especially for Hunters. There was a black and white photograph of the two with the kill to back it up, framed next to the Black Dog mount but also considered a forgery by most. There was a crossed pair of rifles over the mount and photo and surrounded by countless bottles of alcohol and clean glasses.

It was brighter, cleaner and bigger than Harvelle's place, but it ran just as tight. Dean was quickly introduced to the owner Jenny 'The Rock' Nightdog; evidently quiet the local legend kind of Hunter and a pretty woman starting to push her late thirties. Dean found the casualty between strangers…Hunters….It was almost a friendly existence. Far from the standoffishness that happened in Ellen's place.

Celia had been greeted by several people, just walking in the door. Most of them looked like off the job ranch hands, dressing in jeans, tee shirts, flannels and barn coats. Most of them sporting Stetson cowboy hats, too. And to Dean's trained eyes he easily saw the weaponry, protective charms and trinkets that they carried on their person for protection or out of habit. The majority of the population was composed of this kind of backwoods, cowboy type Hunters with a few of the phenotypes that Dean was used to seeing at Harvelle's mixed in.

A stranger in a well established habitat and community, Dean stuck close go Celia's side. Following her to the bar where she barked an order at Jenny for pure whiskey.

As soon as those words left her mouth, every otherwise friendly and smiling Hunter that had approached her backed off, slinking back to their tables and respected conversations.

Jenny raised her eyebrows at the request, shooed the male bartender to deal with other orders, poured the drink and set it in front of Celia. Dean watched the red eyed rancher pull off her bandanna toss it on the counter and down the half glass of whiskey in a single shot.

"Rough night, Red?" Jenny asked, casually wiping clean a glass while standing directly in front of Celia.

Celia had snorted, baring her teeth warningly at passing-through Hunters that stared slack jawed at her horns and red eyes when it seemed the regulars and staff hadn't even noticed.

"Just give me one of everythin'." Celia growled to Jenny, ignoring The Rock's surprised look. "I'm good for it."

So Dean sat by, all but silent except when Celia or Jenny spoke to him and nursed a single beer while Celia got herself spectacularly drunk. At which she was failing miserably, swallowing drinks with names like Dancing Lynx, SlyGrin, and Good Hallengale along with familiars like whiskey, bourbon and tequila like they were water and not even so much as slurring her speech. The demonic possession must have hardened her alcohol consumption level to rival those of frat boys during hell week.

Dean's eyes were starting to water just with the fumes from the drinks, lost in his own thoughts.

He snapped out them when Celia pushed off her chair at the small table they'd taken up in a corner of the building near the stage, which she had been studying intently and silently for the last forty minuets. A live band of true country boys were playing everything from blues and classic Eagles and Johnny Cash to modern country music that Dean knew nothing about and their original stuff that had most of the local and passing Hunters tapping their boots or hands on table tops.

Celia's step had a slight wobble in it when she walked, but not nearly as much as a full blood human would under the alcohol abuse she had committed. Dean was still trying to figure out what kind of drunk she was, hoping it wasn't 'violent'. Celia stopped next to the stage and motioned over the guitarist while they were checking for the next set. He smiled warmly at seeing her, obviously a friend and they chatted for a second before he reached out a hand to help her up.

"Celia! What are you doing?" Dean barked, starting to get out of his chair. She waved him off, a slight mile on her face for the first time in two and a half hours.

"Celia-"

"Shut up, will ya! I'm gonna sing a song." She snorted at him; loud enough that most of the bar heard and broke into cheers and applause, loud whistles from the staff rose above the general noise. Behind him on the dais of plush cushioned chairs around dart boards and billiard tables a pool game stopped as the players stepped up to the divider railing and leaned over to listen and watch better.

Celia smiled and accepted an acoustic guitar, slipping the strap over her back and fiddling with the strings and tuning.

Jenny stepped over to sweep away empty bottles and glasses and replace them with full drinks. "Well yer in for a treat, Winchester." She smiled, somewhat sarcastic.

"What? Celia making a drunken idiot of herself?" Dean snarled, not happy at all where things where things were going.

Jenny looked like he'd slapped her across the face, she hardened sharply. "Ya know, _Dean_-" She snarled his name like a curse and getting his intention in a hurry. "-if ya were less of an ass ya could clearly tell that Ol' Red's hurtin'. And if ya were any kind of friend ya would give her a hand instead of puttin' her down, if ya didn't want to see her in this state ya should have taken control of whatever the hell happened."

Jenny practically slammed a beer down on the table before stalking away, leaving Dean a little shocked and burned by the scolding. He ducked his head and fiddled with his beer. His eyes only leaving the dark glass when Celia started speaking, within a few seconds she had all his attention.

Celia spoke casually into a standing microphone.

"Just one song, y'all. I've only been drinkin' for an hour."

There was a chorus of disbelief and laughter met the announcement. Celia shook her head already strumming a tune on the acoustic guitar while the band behind her struck up their own instruments.

"'Live With Lonesome', y'all." Celia informed to a round of applause.

Dean watched, shifting in his seat and sighing until Celia's voice rippled over the sound system, wrapping around his heart and tightening almost painfully. The rest of the small band backing her up on the chorus.

"_Hear the train in the distance, such a lonely sound it makes. When it's gone there is silence, ya can hear the sound of my heart break. See these arms, now they're empty, 'cause they used to hold onto ya. I said I'd never let go, but somehow ya slipped on through. Now I know that's how love goes, when love goes away…"_

"_I'm gonna cry some, then I'm gonna lay here and die some, all because I know there ain't no one else. Baby, if I can't live with ya, then I guess I'll have to live with with lonesome…"_

"_There's prayer that I'm prayin', there's a dream that I will always dream. And the hope keeps me waitin', for the day when ya come back to me. It's a curse and a blessin', to find love above all the rest. Now I'd rather have nothin' than to settle for less. Now I know that how love goes, when love goes away…"_

"_I'm gonna cry some, then I'm gonna lay here and die some, all because I know there ain't no one else. Baby, if I can't live with ya, then I guess I'll have to live with with lonesome…Now I know that's how love goes when love goes away….I'm gonna cry some, then I'm gonna lay here and die some, all because I know there ain't no one else. Baby, if I can't live with ya, guess I'll have to…live with with lonesome…live with lonesome…"_

The sound of instruments lingered, carrying the tune until Celia tapped the side of the guitar once and silenced the rest of the band with three heartbreaking chords.

The bar broke into a deafening applause, whooping and cheering. Some got up off their feet, clapping. Dean watched Celia smile and give a half bow before stripping off the guitar and shaking hands with the band, smiling the whole way off the stage and back over to their table, sliding back into her chair. She scooped up a beer and swung back a mouthful, swallowing and twisting to look at Dean.

"That was for ya." She informed him casually, with an intoxicated half smile.

The next time Dean glanced at his watch it was pushing four in the morning, most of the Bargest had emptied out, the only lingering people where himself and Celia along with Jenny and two other staff members, the rest sent home shortly after last call at two thirty in the morning along with the live band. The only music drifting from and ancient jukebox set off of the steps up to the pool and darts dais.

Evidently there was no 'last call' for Celia because Jenny and occasionally one of the other waitresses continued to bring Celia the drinks she asked for. Until Dean stepped in forty five minuets ago and asked Jenny to cut her off.

He was unsure if he'd acted a little too late but the approving look from the Rock was enough for him to know that he'd made the right choice to finally take control.

Celia's vision was blurry, she shook her head violently a few times and occasionally titled her chair so far back Dean reacted, snagging the back to tug it back onto the floor to keep her from falling backwards. He'd eventually tugged her chair so much that she was pretty much sitting next to him. Dean's nose wrinkled at the heavy smell of alcohol on her breath and her jerky movements worried him, but it didn't seem anything worse than he had encountered before in his barfly lifestyle. Hell, if he or some other 'normal' person had consumed the amount of alcohol that Celia had they would be in the ICU, comatose with alcohol poisoning, so Celia's ability to string somewhat coherent sentences together impressed him. In fact Dean was reluctant to leave the Bargest himself.

Celia was literally spilling her guts.

He knew it wasn't exactly ethical to take advantage of her in her intoxicated state, but it didn't really stop him from listening with fascination to stories about her family and home life on Wounded Heart Ranch, a full length (and in his own opinion, exciting) relation of her National Rodeo and Horseshow Championship in Las Vegas. He listened to mashed versions of hunts and Hunts, her faded memories of Nathaniel and John, she even let slip a few childhood adventures where 'Dean' and 'Sam' came up plenty of times. And the fear shredded memories of when a mountain lion attacked her as a child and sent Celia and a yearling horse rolling head over tail down a cliff face for forty or fifty feet.

Now she was just sort of puttering along, eyes unfocused and dropping forward to her chest every now and then.

"I…it's not fair ya know, Dean?"

"I know."

"I mean, ya lost yer momma and that's bullshit 'cause Mary was a saint! Should be a saint! And I only met her once, loved her!"

"Me, too."

"But ya had yer John and he saved ya from the government and…and pushed ya, ya got a good education! Both a-ways, no matter how broke it was…"

"Mm-hmm."

"But ya had yer John and me, where's my Nathaniel! What!?! HIT! Hit like a fuckin' stray dog! Didn't even git gunned down like he sus…sus…posed to! He's a a Hunter GODDAMNIT! Hit by a soccer mom on her cellular phone…"

"It wasn't right." Dean agreed.

"…my Momma cried for a week…and Eli…Eli joined the Marines and is tryin' to get himself killed in the fuckin' desert over there. Iran-"

"Iraq, Celia."

"YEAH!" She jabbed a finger at him. "There!"

Dean nodded.

"And they ditched me! Both of em! At…at least ya had yer John and Sammy, ya know but me…" She made an odd noise that sounded like something between a snort and a whimper, "…left to myself! No one ever told me that it wasn't those sonsabitches fault he bit it! I spent ten years TEN! Buildin' this...this…"

"Hate?"

"Yes! Just hated the goddamn things! And I hated and hated and hated and hated…and ya and Sammy weren't much help! Ya went with me on it! Ya were sus…supposed to look out for me, Dean!" She looked at him pleadingly, leaning heavily over the table and shivering a little. "Ya weren't sus-supposed to let a kid get like that, I shouldn't-a had ever felt hate like that!"

"I'm sorry I let you down, Celia."

She snorted, choking on a laugh and waved him off. "Ya were messed up too, don't matter…but NOW I got this problem , cause I act like that whenever I see one of 'em, sonsabitches-"

"A psychic?"

She snarled, baring her teeth at him. The growl rippled for a few seconds before it died, "Buidaigwade… I HATE 'em…have to hate 'em…so I have to hate Sammy. I don't wanna hate Sammy, Dean!" She pleaded, reaching out and snagging his shirt, tugging him towards her. "I don't!" She gave him a little shake.

"Celia, you don't have to."

"YES! Yes I do! Ya don't get it! They killed him! Alright!?! He's dead! Those…those things sent him to die, like some sacrificial thing ya sacrifice!"

"Sam didn't."

She blinked at him, giving her head a slight shake, tried to focus on his face again.

"Sam didn't." Dean repeated.

Celia let go of his shirt and sit back in her chair, processing what he said. She suddenly snorted loudly, wrinkling her nose. "That doesn't make sense…"

Dean stayed quiet, watching her put things together. Her eyes started to blink closed and her head dipped forward a little.

"Sam's not responsible for Nathaniel's death." Dean pressed, knowing that Celia's fogged mind was starting to drift from the point. The elder Winchester wanted to hammer home that Sam was far from a threat. "You don't have to hate him…especially if you don't want to."

She shook her head again and looked at him tiredly. "I suppose not…"

"Sam's a person." Dean continued.

"Yeah." She agreed, watching him closely…or as closely as unfocused eyes could.

"So are other psychics. They're people, not monsters or 'things'."

"No, no. I wouldn't got that far now, Dean Rifle." She scolded waving a finger at him. When 'Winchester' had become too hard for her to pronounce completely Celia resorted to 'Rifle'. She titled her chair side ways, towards Dean and lifted a cup on the table, giving it a sniff and yanking her head back, making a face before carelessly dropping the offending cup on the table, Dean catching it before it tipped over and spilled the coffee inside. Dean moved the coffee a side and tugged Celia's chair back down onto its feet.

She twisted and leaned heavily towards him, propping her chin on one hand and setting her elbow on the table top, a sloppy grin on her lips as she was barely a six inches from Dean's face.

"People are monsters too, ole Dean. Sometimes the worst kind…" The grin faltered, her eyes dropped to the otter totem and the brass charm around his neck. She reached out with her free hand and toyed with the horned mask. "I hate 'em…need to…for my Dad."

Dean sighed and nodded, allowing her to fidget. "But you won't hate Sam?"

She gave him a look like he was trying to trick her.

"Celia." Dean said sternly.

"I guess I won't." She muttered, her hand moved from the charm to his arm lifting his wrist and forearm into her lap, exploring his hand. "But I'm gonna hate and kill the rest of 'em, if I cross 'em …"

"Fair enough."

Dean sat back casually, after the first initial shock several hours before, he'd been allowing Celia to casually touch and toy with him. Rubbing her hand over his hair, touching his nose, poking him gently in the stomach or ribs and messing with his hands. He was just relieved that she was a playful talkative drunk. He didn't think he could handle a few rounds with a violent, intoxicated Celia Northwind.

He actually enjoyed the way Celia's hands roved over and massaged his knuckles and palm, easing any strains in his hand. The motions sent sparks of electricity over the sensitive skin of his hand, wrist and up his fore arm. His attention actually wandered, watching Jenny scrubbing down an alcohol stained table and he listened absently to the humming song off the jukebox.

He jumped slightly when suddenly Celia lifted his hand and pressed the back his knuckles into her nose and sniffed, drawing in his scent hungrily. He quirked his eyebrows at the new, strange behavior.

"Ya smell good." She whispered into the back of his hand. The feeling of her lips moving over the sensitive skin made the muscles in Dean's forearm and bicep twitch, a natural reaction to the sensation.

"What do I smell like?" Dean asked his voice barely above a whisper.

"No. Ya don't want to know." She hummed into his hand with a small smile and keeping Dean's hand pressed into her nose.

Dean couldn't help the pull at his own lips. "Why?"

"'Cause…it ain't masculine…" She hushed her voice like it was some big secret. Dean tensed; anything questioning his masculinity was a threat. The idea of something so intimate as his own, natural scent not being as canis mas macho as possible shook him into nervousness.

"Tell me." He ordered.

She smiled, as if teasing him, "Lilacs." She scented his skin again, drawing in a deep breath right off his skin.

"Lilacs?"

"Ya. Smell. Like. Lilacs." She grinned into the back of his hand. "It's nice."

"It's the soap at the ranch." Dean argued.

She shook her head. "It's ya. Yer scent. I know it, always have. Always will, even in the darkest pit of Hell and Earth…Lilacs and gun powder…I love that scent…"

She let his hand drop and looked unfocused around the empty bar. Dean relaxed a little, flexing his hand a few times.

"Guess lilacs_ and_ gun powder is better than just flowers…" Dean sighed. Celia gave a half assed snicker then returned to her unfocused gazing.

It was the same hand that had locked up under Celia's jaw, dug into her throat. Thinking about it Dean felt the same phantom sensations that had been reality earlier that night.

Jenny glanced up, catching his eye. The Rock's gaze flicked between him and Celia then she nodded suggestively towards the jukebox. Dean blinked not to sure what she was pressing, he cocked an eyebrow in question. Jenny nodded towards the jukebox again, then flashed her eyes between Celia and Dean. Dean shook his head, and lifted a hand, still not understanding. The Rock let out a frustrated snarl, crossed the room, scooped up the empty glass of water and cold coffee mugs.

"Put a song on the jukebox ya damn fool." She growled in his ear before sweeping back behind the bar. Dean glanced worriedly at Celia's stoic face then at the jukebox and a final look around.

Well…no witnesses.

Dean pushed himself up and crossed to the jukebox, finding it oddly free and flipped through the records of foreign titles and artists. He finally just picked one, hoping the title wouldn't let him down and waited a few seconds as the slow tones of a steel guitar drifted out to him. Dean nodded after a few seconds, deciding it would do and crossed back to Celia, standing in front of her and offering his hand. She glanced between it and his face.

"What?"

"You didn't get to dance last night after all those victories. C'mon."

"Dean," She shook her head and waved him off, "Dean no-"

"Please?"

She looked back to his face, blinking a few times too slowly.

"Celia's I'm trying to…hell I don't know what, just c'mon." Dean muttered as the deep, soothing voice of the artist rippled over the speakers, Celia glanced up, listening.

"Garth, huh?" She took his hand and allowed him to do most of the work, lifting her up out of the chair. He gripped one hand, set her other on his shoulder then rested his hand on her hip, naturally falling into a slow circling waltz like step.

"What?" He asked quietly.

"Garth Brooks." She motioned her head towards a speaker. "That Summer, by Garth Brooks…of all the songs Dean ya chose the only country song that involves statutory rape." She broke into a smile and a small laugh.

Dean's head fell back with a groan, "God-"

Celia grinned and tightened her hold on him, keeping the slow momentum of the dance going, "I like this song."

Dean dropped his head back down to look at her. "Really?"

"'Course. It's Garth Brooks, ain't it?"

Dean sighed and dropped his head forward to rest his forehead against her hair line, pressing his temple into the side of one horn and shutting his eyes to listen to the lyrics of the song. Halfway through Dean and Celia were whispering the words, dancing in a small circle in the empty Bargest for four minuets and forty-five seconds.

…

Dean sighed heavily as he slid down from the driver's seat, he tucked the keys into his pocket and shut the cab door. Walking around the front of the truck Dean hauled open the passenger door and with some maneuvering was able to drape Celia's limp frame over his shoulder. Shutting the door with one hand and using the other to keep a firm grip on Celia's legs. With each step Dean could feel Celia's slack arms bumping into his lower back and butt. Dean sighed, shifted and looked around, makings sure that there were no strange cars in the drive before carrying Celia up the steps and in the kitchen door. A flicker of a smile touched his lips when he saw the flat bed with the Impala back in place. He noted that it looked like the muscle car had been waxed and buffed to a sleek shine that made the moonlight cast across her body flicker. The elder Winchester felt a deep seeded pull in his gut to just toss Celia in the passenger side, crank up the engine and drive until there was no road or no gas left.

The Greer home was silent, dark. Most of the lights had been turned out and Sam was probably drowning himself in Nathaniel's study or sleeping in the guest room that Dean had been dominating since they came to the Wounded Heart Ranch. Dean didn't bother looking for his brother or turning the lights on, navigating through the dark home to the stairs. He hesitated, testing with one foot to find the steps in the dark before he trotted up the steps and down the hall to Celia's room. Dean nudged open the door and gently dropped Celia onto her bed. He froze for a second at the sight of the stuffed mountain lion half hidden under her quilt.

She groaned loudly, muttering under her liquor soaked breath as she struggled to roll onto her side, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. The elder Winchester sighed heavily, sniffing and wincing at the heavy smell of smoke, alcohol and general "barness" they had dragged into her room. Dean sighed and rooted around in her closet, coming up with a pair of brown and green flannel pants, fresh socks and a white tee shirt.

"C'mon Celia." He coaxed rousing her and propping her into a sitting position.

"I love Sammy." She muttered, "He's stupid…I don't hate him…"

"I know, you've told me eight times." Dean stripped off her boots and socks, putting the fresh ones on. "Here, put these on." He handed her the flannel bottoms. She wobbled, struggling to pull on the flannels over her jeans. Dean sighed rolling his eyes and being as respectful as he could manage, helped her out of the jeans and into the flannels.

Celia's head rolled downward. Her chin dropped onto her chest. Dean didn't bother trying to get her to put her own shirt on and stripped off the gray and red tee drenched in the smells of the Bargest, leaving Celia in her bra. The elder Winchester forced his eyes to her collar bone, to keep from wandering but something caught his eyes. He looked down a few inches below her left collar, above the ugly scar Celia admitted to having, the first time a Hunter tried to exorcise the demon and cut a crucifix across her chest, was a circular tattoo. Neat and in a stylized tribal design of color, done with a modern tattoo machine. A chocolate and cream colored otter twisted its body, midway through some under water acrobatic. Just in the right position for the crow to perch on its arched back, wings half stretched out, neck arched to look down in the otter's face. The crow's back and tail feathers were flecked with red and white spots. Dean had to admit it was quiet the piece of art, designed to look something like a ying-yang symbol. Dean reached up and lightly brushed his fingers over the tattoo. Celia twitched, muttering and leaning heavily forward, bracing both hands on the edge of the mattress.

Dean pulled his hand back and his eyes flicked to her shoulders and his froze. His hesitation allowed Celia to slump over, rolling onto her stomach, folding her arms under her head. Dean's eyes roamed over the markings tattooed into her back.

Tattoo wasn't the right word. They were carved into her fresh, a massive inked scar spanning from the base of her neck to the small of her back and wrapping around her shoulders, biceps and sides to complete the image, if someone peeled the image off her skin and laid it out it would make a complete circle. It was laid out that way on her skin, to have a complete, closed circle. It seemed almost violent, angry compared to the crow and otter.

Dean shook himself out of his shock and tugged his phone out of his pocket, swiftly typing out a text message to Sam.

Dean waited silently, listening until the sounds of Sam moving around a floor below reached his ears. Sam climbed the stairs, slipped down the hall and carefully entered Celia's room, looking worried.

"Turn on the light." Dean said quietly. Sam looked startled, cocking his head and flicking the light switch on. Celia groaned, reached blindly and buried her face into a pillow.

Sam's jaw literally dropped, staring from across the room. One long legged stride and he was next to the bed, pouring over the dyed scars in Celia's back while Dean stood regally by. Sam's hand lifted to touch but Dean snatched his younger brother's wrist, shaking his head once and nodding him out the door.

Sam took a second to snap a photo with his Treo before slipping out of the room. Dean exited, shutting off the light and shutting the door, after helping Celia into the white tee shirt.

"Dean." Sam whispered harshly. "Dean that was a Devil's Trap!"

"You think!" Dean snarled sarcastically in a low voice. "No wonder no one can get the damned thing out of her! Someone pinned it to her! Those scars have got to be twenty years old!"

"Who the hell would carve a Devil's Trap into a kid's back?" Sam's voice was lined with pity and disgust. "Its so big…"

"I don't but I'm damn sick of not getting straight answers." Dean snapped and thundered down the hall and heading for the mud room. He dug into the pocket of Celia's fleece and suede coat, slipping out his keys and thundered out the door.

He was startled when Valentine shoved himself up from under the table and pushed his way through the door with Dean and trotted at his side to the flat bed bound Impala. Dean walked around the Chevrolet once, picking out how the flat bed actually worked. In a few seconds he dropped the ramp, unchained the tires and climbed up into the driver's seat, taking a second to soak in the familiarity of it.

"Dean?" Sam called from the ground, Valentine whined loudly.

The elder Winchester ignored them both, sliding his key home and cranked the engine to life. Dean's heart leapt at the guttural roar of the engine, rumbling down into a predatory growl.

"Joey does a good job." Dean said quietly, noticing that on top of the wax, buff and new fuel line the mechanic had filled his tank. Dean twisted in his seat, put the Impala into gear and eased backwards down the ramp to the earth.

"Get in Sam." Dean ordered.

The younger brother sighed heavily and stepped around to the passenger side, pulling the door open. Before either brother could react Valentine leapt into the passenger seat, climbed over the console and dropped himself into the back seat, curling up on the leather and looking at them expectantly.

The brothers glanced at each other for a few seconds before settling in their respective places and Dean steered the rumbling Impala out onto the main road, turning right instead of the normal left to head into town.

"We're ditching Red and stealing her dog?" Sam asked, getting comfortable in his seat, it wasn't the first bail run the brothers had made.

"No." Dean said stoically. "After that stunt you pulled-" Sam flinched a little and said nothing, "-Celia spent the majority of the last seven hour drinking at a Hunter bar-"

"Hunter bar?" Sam cut off, checking the glove compartment to make sure that everything was still in place, "A place like Harvelle's?"

"Yeah, The Bargest. Evidently, from the number I saw in there, the whole region's more 'Hunter friendly' than normal."

"Weird."

Dean nodded, "It got to a point that she literally wouldn't shut up. Said more than she has since we got here last week. She mentioned the cemetery where Nathaniel's buried."

Sam blinked at him. "You want to talk to him." It wasn't a question.

Dean snorted grimly, his eyes flicking along the side of the road, looking for the stone fence and the iron gates Celia had mentioned. Sam peered into the dark, glancing down at the speedometer to check the mileage every few minuets. Dean's twenty mile an hour pace slowed to ten as three miles slipped by, Valentine's head hung out the window the entire ride, drooling out of the window until he whined loudly and with a scramble vaulted out of the window.

"Val!" Dean barked, slamming roughly on the breaks. The Impala snarled but stopped dead in her tracks. Sam jumped out of the passenger seat and jogged after the albino dog. The animal growled, pinning his ears and broke into a full gallop, his white coat and eerie rolling shape in the pitch dark of the Nevada wild country. Dean parked the Impala and cut the engine, tearing out after Sam, both brothers sprinting after the dog.

"Must've seen a rabbit." Sam puffed. Dean only grunted as the distance between Valentine and the Winchesters lengthened. Valentine bounded across the scrub brush and suddenly leaped over a short stone wall the brothers couldn't see in the dark. Dean immediately checked his pace, whipped around and jogged back towards the Impala.

"Dean?"

"Keep following him! That's the cemetery!" Dean called over his shoulder, rushing back to the Chevrolet while Sam vaulted over the stone wall, dropped down into the carefully cropped grass of an ancient burying ground. He halted his steps, slowing to a walk through weathered and corroded headstones and trees with trunks as wide as four or five feet, knarled branches bowed towards the earth and small, crooked dogwood trees, scattering the last of pink and red blossoms on the grass.

Sam's moves were slow, calculated and cautious of everything around him. Moves made more from experience than from respect for the dead. Graves this old, dating back to the first westward expansion before the Civil War, it was way too easy to stir up a detached spirit.

"Valentine." Sam called quietly, looking into the damp earth for tracks and finding nothing. Walking a few yards into the graveyard Sam spotted a white shape and slipped towards it. Slowing his step all over again when he noticed Valentine was just sitting next to a gravestone.

The albino shepherd, panted slightly, bright blue eyes blinking at him.

"God, Valentine." Sam muttered, coughing and catching his breath.

Valentine whined and pawed at the headstone, cocking his ears. He seemed to be asking if this wasn't what Sam wanted.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the white shepherd. The dog whined again, pawing at the stone and letting a out a short bark.

"Scares me how smart you are." Sam muttered, the albino thumped his tail.

The younger Winchester crouched on his heels and studied the headstone, the engraving a little worn from the harsh Nevada weather in a standing block of marble, but it clearly read the words Dean wanted. Sam slipped out a lighter from his jeans pocket and flicked it to life, casting shadows making it easier to read.

_Nathaniel Jessop Greer June 13, 1953 - September 10, 1985_

_Loving Father and Husband_

_Hunter Soldier Protector_

_Saint Michael Guide Him Always_

A flash of light behind Sam made him twist, he barely made out the shape of the Impala through a barred gate a few hundred yards behind him. Sam listened to the unnatural silence while Dean shuffled around in the trunk of the Impala. The sound of the lid shutting and Dean trudging through the graveyard replaced the sensation of light.

"Sam?"

"Dean, over here." Sam called, pushing back to his feet and waiting until Dean stepped up to his side. The younger brother motioned towards the headstone, half shaded in the dark. "Nathaniel."

"Good." Dean nodded curtly and slung a small duffle of collected gear from the false bottom to the ground. "Valentine, back!"

The white dog bounced to his feet and trotted out of the way at Dean's command, following his pointed hand a few yards away.

"Down. Stay."

Valentine dropped down to his belly, his head dropping onto his paws and watched as the brothers worked. Setting up two electric lamps in the dark to see better and using herbs, salts, polished crystals and large white candles. Sam walking in a slow circle around the grave stone and his elder brother, chanting quietly out of a worn leather text while Dean used a shovel to turn the earth fresh then set up the altar. Finished, his hands damp and flecked with dirt he stepped back, out of the way while Sam continued to slowly circle and quietly chant into the dark.

Sam's voice fell silent and he shut the book with as little noise as possible. The brothers stood still, listening waiting in the dark that was starting to lighten as dawn approached.

"Dean-"

"Shh."

Sam waited another few seconds then sighed.

"Dean, he'd been dead too long." Sam whispered.

Valentine growled, a soft and low noise the broke up into a whine, scrambling up from his place and dashing to hide behind Sam's legs, pinning his ears and bristling.

The brothers twisted.

The old, dusty cowboy leaned back against the back of a large head stone a yard and a half away. One leg crossed casually over the other, head bowed, only the top of a buckskin Stetson cowboy hat to look at. Broad shoulders shrugged up under a brown barn coat Dean was sure he'd seen in the Greer's mud room. The cowboy's hands were dug deep into the pockets of his jacket. His jeans were faded, streaked in mud in a few places. Heavy work boots scarred deep into the leather, the barn coat left open over a red and white button flannel and a black tee shirt.

The cowboy sniffed loudly, swallowing and shifting a little. The Stetson twisted and the cowboy spat into the dirt next to his boot. Dean's eyes were locked on the man, waiting tensely with his hand wrapped tightly around the stock of a shot gun loaded with rock salt cartridges.

The Stetson lifted, the cowboy looked the boys dead in the face.

Nathaniel Greer didn't look a day aged passed thirty-two. Chocolate eyes soft, almost doe-like set in the handsome, square jawed face. He looked at the brothers like a starved man did his first meal. Raven colored hair shifting against warm, tawny skin with the breeze flowing through the cemetery. His chest rose and fell in silent breath.

"Nathaniel?" Dean asked quietly.

The image flickered, for a second the twisted and shredded form of the father turned accident victim. Dressed in a police uniform, drenched in his own blood, one side of his ribcage crushed in, gut half split open pouring blood down his legs, one arm shattered, shredded down to the splintered bones. Nathaniel's handsome features were mutilated, his jaw half torn off his face, part of his skull collapsed in. The warm eyes clouded and gray.

The soccer mom and her SUV had made hamburger of the police officer.

The brother's stomachs turned violently, Dean felt every urge to vomit but bit back his bile. The destroyed image of Nathaniel passed, flickering back to the living and loving image that settled the brother's racing heart beats.

"Dean…Sam…" The spirit croaked, his voice a broken rasp, as if not having been used in years. The look on his face twisted from confused sorrow to disbelief, as if he'd just realized who was around him.

Nathaniel let out a pained gasp, something of a laugh and a sob.

"God…Goddamn…ya boys are all grown up…"

Dean and Sam reeled as tears formed at the corners of Nathaniel's eyes. The sprit pushed himself off the head stone and with stiff movements walked towards them. Actually having to look up at Sam. The spirit was about Dean's height.

The spirit seemed to be shivering or wavering around the edges. The Winchester brothers stood perfectly still, stuck in fascination.

"God…" Nathaniel breathed again, then gingerly reached forward and carefully drew both brothers into a tight embrace. Except for the sheer cold of his body, the spirit was solid flesh, chest and throat rising and falling in nonexistent breath. The most startling part of the hug was that Dean and Sam embraced Nathaniel back, almost a natural reaction. It was a comforting hold, reminding both brothers of the few but craved embraces from their father. Dean half expected to smell leather soap, horses and sweat on Nathaniel, but the only scent was lingering damp earth, very faint traces of decay.

A few seconds and Nathaniel backed off, looking between the boys. One large hand lingering on Dean's jaw for a second, before dropping back to tuck into his pocket.

"I swear, last time I saw ya, ya were babies, now…I mean damn yer taller then me." Nathaniel smiled, studying them. "Y'all look so much like John…"

"Nathaniel-" Dean hesitated, then spoke, "You know that you're…" Dean made an awkward motion with his hand.

Nathaniel looked at him, cocking his head slightly then smiling assuringly. "Yeah, Dean. I know. Knew when I felt that grill hit my side. Hunters always know Dean. Speakin' of, what the hell are ya doin'?"

The spirit tensed up, seeming to grow angry. Dean and Sam steadied themselves reactively.

"I told John ya boys need to be left alone! Yer not supposed to be in the trade!" Nathaniel snarled, grinding his teeth together. "Yer supposed to be workin' and goin' to yer kids baseball games. Frettin' 'bout mortgages and insurance payments and payin' off yer goddamn student loans! Not doin' this shit…" The spirit sighed heavily, giving his head a little shake before smiling at them again, "…ya are damn good at it though…"

"Nathaniel." Dean cut him off, stilling the spirit and getting all his attention. The smile slid from Nathaniel's lips.

"Ys summoned me for a reason."

"Celia-"

"What? What's wrong?" Nathaniel asked sharply, his chocolate eyes flickered into cataract gray for a few seconds.

"Nathan-" Sam started.

"What's wrong with my daughter!?!"

One of the trees nearby ripped open with a ugly snarl; the wood splitting up the core of the trunk and a massive limb, still green with life, ripped from the trunk, rattling to the ground with a crack like breaking bone.

Dean and Sam jerked back a step, hardening and Dean tightening his hold on the shotgun.

The spirit seemed to be trying to calm itself, a hand pressed into each side of the head. Muttering quietly and for a second flickering back to the mutilated corpse that Celia and her family had buried.

"Please…boys please, tell me my daughter is alright?" Nathaniel begged, trying not to look at them, fingers still pressed tightly to his temples.

"No! She's not!" Dean snapped, boiling over.

"Dean-" Sam said warningly and Valentine whined loudly.

"What-"

"She's lying face down in a pillow, sleeping of one of the worst drinking binges I've ever seen and has a Devil's Trap_** carved**_ into her back!" Dean snarled, advancing on the spirit. Nathaniel looked startled, shame flickering in his eyes.

"You wanted the truth, Nathaniel." Dean barked, "So do I, who did it?"

The spirit backed up another step, trying to avoid looking Dean in the eye.

"_Who did it Nathaniel!?!"_

"I did." The spirit whispered.

Dean's teeth clenched so hard he got light headed. Before Sam could stop him Dean dropped the shotgun, grabbed Nathaniel by the front of his shirts and barn jacket, whirled him around and slammed his hard into the back of a headstone. Slightly surprised himself that he was able to manhandle a spirit, Dean leaned his weight, into Nathaniel pinning him down hard.

The spirit struggled a little, hands coming up to grip Dean's wrists. The elder Winchester shivered at the cold but didn't let go.

"Dean-"

"WHY!?!"

Nathaniel heaved a deep breath, "Dean, stop-"

"No! She stuck with that thing because of you! If you loved her so much why the hell did you do that to her!?!"

Before Dean could get a breath in Nathaniel twisted and slammed him into the ground, pinning him to the ground with one hand in his throat.

"DON'T talk to me like I'm an abuser!" The spirit snarled in his face, feeling full the aim of the shotgun locked between his shoulders by the younger Winchester. Dean choked, twisting on the ground and unable to get away from the hand crushing his voice box. The spirit eased down to a crouch, sitting on the heels of his boots, over Dean. The crushing hand slid away from the elder Winchester's throat.

Dean rolled away, scrambling back a few yard to sit, rubbing his sore throat and coughing heavily. Sam stepped around to his side, keeping the shotgun pointed dead at Nathaniel's squatted form.

The spirit hand was braced across his lips. "I love my children…"

Neither brother spoke, watching the unpredictable apparition warily. As sane and calm as Nathaniel seemed at first it appeared that the crushing madness that death caused on a soul had touched him, sending him into a fit of rage the same way any good father did in life, at the threat of his kids.

"Shuka Waken…it was using her…same way that poor countries at war do their children, as killers, soldiers…one of the best kind, I'll admit. No one really expects a child to be a killer…at four years old…" The spirit stopped speaking, it seemed too difficult for a second, eyes locked on his own grave. "…at four years old she was capable of murder…had committed murder…that thing eatin' her like a cancer from the inside! Killin' her…" Nathaniel's eyes flashed to the brothers, hardened in anger, the air stirring for a second before settling. "What I did, as wrong as it was I was tryin' to save her life. Trap it…deep…so it couldn't get at her anymore…it was the _only_ way…"

"There's always something else, Nathaniel." Sam muttered, the shotgun lowered, his grip so loose it was slipping to the ground.

The spirit shook his head, "Not this time…believe me I looked…"

"She's suffered for twenty-six years, Nathaniel." Dean said stiffly.

Nathaniel's head dropped, the shoulders jerking and nothing for the Winchesters to look at but the top of a Stetson. The chocolate eyes flicked back up to the green of Dean's. "She's my baby girl." The spirit rasped.

Dean slumped back on his hands and butt, feeling a bubble of disgust for some of the things that parents did for their children.

Sam heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes moving from Dean to Nathaniel back again.

"Is that what ya wanted?" The spirit muttered bitterly.

Neither brother spoke in return.

"Do a poor soul a favor and don't tell his family ya called me…" Nathaniel's image started to flicker out.

"Nathaniel, I'm sorry." Dean managed.

"Just protect my family…and yerselves…I consider ya my boys too…"

"Nathaniel…why don't we remember anything?" Sam implored.

The cowboy flickered, "Ask the Chieftain." Then snuffed out with the lit candles on his grave.

The brothers and dog sat in the dark for a few seconds of pure silence.

"That was traumatizing." Dean muttered. Sam groaned under his breath.

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**Thanks to Little Big Town for the use of their song "Living with Lonesome" and the almighty greatest entertainer in history Garth Brooks for the mention of "That Summer".**

**Much Love Read and Review Please**


	29. Make Amends in Paradise

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

**…**

**Chapter Twenty Nine: Make Amends in Paradise**

"**Somewhere in time's own space  
There must be some sweet pastured place  
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow  
Some paradise where horses go,  
For by the love that guides my pen  
I know great horses live again.****"**

**-**_**Some Paradise Where Horses Go - **_**Stanley Harrison**

**…**

Dean's head was practically spinning, he almost drove off the road, tripped over the stairs up the veranda, and hit Sam in the face with screen door when he pulled it open. Apologizing twice and to preoccupied to even laugh at his brother's misfortune.

Dean's frazzled and whirling mind broke, settling sharply. His mind suddenly blank her stared at Celia at the scarred and battered wooden table in the kitchen.

She looked miserable. Her hair was mussed, hanging in unattractive strands around her face and horns. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and her normally warm, tawny skin was pale and sickly looking. Normally bright blood colored eyes looked dull and glassy, the color was so unchanged from normal it took Dean a few seconds to figure out that she had been crying. She looked like she hadn't slept in a few weeks then on her first nights sleep in had been filled with violent nightmares and thrashing. She retreated into an over large knit sweater of mottled blue-gray and white, like some kind of security blanket, the sleeves pulled well over her hands. Her arms were wrapped around her self, hugging around her neck and shoulders. Still dressed in her green and brown flannel bottoms and socks, but they looked rumpled and thread bare now. Every few seconds her whole frame shivered and a ceramic mug of coffee sat on the table in front of her; steaming still but clearly getting cold in a hurry. Buckshot's large head was resting across her knee, the caramel and black German Shepherd whined softly, his eyes trained on her.

She looked God awful, panic flushed Dean's systems. Even when her unfocused eyes cleared and looked up at them.

The surprise on her face wiped out the misery for a few seconds. She wiped her eyes on the sweater sleeve pulled across her palm.

"Sammy…Dean…thought y'all hit the road…" She whispered hoarsely.

"Celia what's wrong?" Dean asked, in a heart beat crossing the room and sitting in the chair next to her. Sam hung back, unsure still where his place was.

She let out a shaky, broken sigh, letting her hands drop from hugging her frame to rest on either side of the coffee mug.

"Celia you aren't crying over us leaving, right? I told you we weren't bailing." Dean said assuringly, searching her face.

"I wasn't really…well I was…but only after…." She muttered, broken unnatural words. She started shaking harder, the mug rattled between her hands. Dean swiftly removed it.

"Celia-"

"I got a call…my Uncle Kurt Cree died in Elko hospital five and a half hours ago."

Sam and Dean froze. They were use to dealing with familial loss, posing as priests, law enforcement, insurance reps, even councilors. The loss never really hit home.

Jim Murphy, Caleb, Mary and John. That's were the loss was in their lives. They couldn't sympathize with the loss in other's lives, they had to detach or suffer pains continuously. Now…a man they didn't know by name or sight, only as someone important enough to make the 'strong and silent' Celia cry…it bit deep.

"Doc said he'd been callin' me all night…I was to stupid…drinkin'…" Her breathing hitched and tears bit at her eyes. "…and I got to thinkin' 'bout Uncle Kurt…then my daddy and I went lookin' for ya and ya were gone and the Impala was gone…"

"Hey, take it easy." Dean soothed, gripping one of her hands tightly as she started to choke, breaking into racking sobs. Buckshot whined and pressed closer to her side. Sam jumped slightly when Valentine practically knocked him over rushing to Celia's side and pushing in next to the older German Shepherd and nudging at Celia's hip and side.

"Celia, I told you we weren't leaving yet, remember?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I…have to call…my momma."

"No." The elder Winchester said sternly. "No, not right now."

"But-"

"Red, it's probably best if you sleep a little longer..." Sam advised quietly from the other end of the table.

She looked up at him blearily, studying Sam through gut wrenching sobs and hiccups.

"You're not ready to deal with it." Sam pressed.

"And you're still a little smashed." Dean added quietly.

Celia sniffed heavily, looking blearily between the brothers then nodded, rubbing her face raw with her sweater sleeves and trying to get up from the chair alone. She stumbled on the first try, Sam jumping forward to catch her, Dean already snagging her arm from the other side. She was almost limp weight between them, using Sam to push herself steadily to her feet.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly.

"My gut hurts…" She pushed away from Sam and Dean, shuffling towards the stairs, hugging herself. Sam started to follow and she tripped on the stairs trying to avoid him. Crashing hard and clumsily to the stairs. She snarled several curses, using the banister to haul herself back to her feet. She jumped when Dean gripped her left arm and guided her up the stairs, relaxing after she realized who it was.

Sam stood back, his ego bruised; Dean waved him off and disappeared with Celia up the stairs. Sam's teeth ground together and he felt a flush of frustration in his stomach boil.

He thought it was unfair that Celia hadn't forgiven him yet. He'd forgiven her barely a few minuets after she'd almost killed him, even supported her when Dean was still acting like she was dangerous. He knew he shouldn't have brought the Hernandez women into Wounded Heart, he'd had good intentions, she new that right? Why the hell was she still acting like he was repulsive?!

Sam sighed, shook himself and calmed the turmoil within.

Celia was like Dean, he reminded himself. To much alike, she could hold a grudge just as easily at his elder brother. Sam needed to just give it time and space, that's how things got worked out with Dean.

_She has to come to me…_Sam sighed heavily and eased into the chair Celia had just vacated. He rested his head heavily in his hands and grumbled under his breath. Sam jumped when the view of his knees was suddenly obscured by Buckshot's head.

The German Shepherd whined loudly, pawed at Sam's knee. The younger Winchester rested a large hand between the pinned ears and scratched the black and cinnamon fur. A clatter at the door made him stiffen and bristle a little but rose and pulled open the oaken door, leaving the screen door shut until he saw that it was Rosie the Red Fur calf and Alamo. The younger Winchester pushed open the screen, letting the two animals in, shutting and locking the door behind them before migrating to the couch, sitting up watching the early morning news.

…

Celia moved on her own steam, but it was unsteady. Dean acted like a collie, keeping pace with her, his presence steering her in the right direction but he didn't touch her. The way Celia was hugging herself and kept her head tucked into her chest it was clear she didn't want to be touched. Dean stepped a head of her, cutting her off much like a herding dog did livestock, steering her into her room, following her over the threshold.

"I'm sorry about Kurt." Dean said quietly. Celia shivered violently at his words and set herself on the edge of her mattress, one hand braced across her face. Dean settled himself next to her, after a minuet of not speaking or moving lifted one arm and gently wrapped it around her shoulders. Celia naturally leaned into his frame, she scooted back on the mattress, hiking her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest. She let out a pained and shaky sigh.

"Didn't know him that well…knew Jezebel better…"

"That girl that jumped Sam, right?" Dean asked quietly, hugging her closer. She nodded.

"More sick over that pup…she was startin' to wander with Kurt strong and her momma's always been weak…she'll get herself into so much trouble…"

"She'll be fine with you and Eli and everyone else in the family looking out for her." Dean reassured.

"Nobody should lose their father…" Celia muttered. Dean flinched inwardly, staying deathly still for a few long minuets. Before he let the bite of the pain fade from his mind and heart, then he settled, relaxing again.

Dean shifted, bracing himself up with one arm and tangling his other hand in the soft, knitted fabric of her sweater. Fiddling around her collar Dean's fingers touched the hot metal of the necklace around her throat. The silver chain and crucifix. Dean wound his fingers into the chain, unconsciously playing with the charm. He wondered why such a complex person as Celia wore something so simple, so common. The necklace was quickly cooling between his fingers, pulled away from the warmth of her skin and tangled in his hand.

"You need to get some sleep." Dean coaxed, trying to extract himself from her.

She made some strange noise of agreement but pressed tighter to Dean's side.

The elder Winchester sighed and settled back without any struggle, knowing without asking, being asked or trying to remove himself again that he wasn't going anywhere. Dean shifted himself back on the mattress until the sill of the widow over her bed was pressed into his back and his head rested against the cold of the glass, he reached for one of Celia's pillows, tucking it behind his back to ease the discomfort the position otherwise promised. Dean's legs stretched out comfortably across the mattress and his boots, still slightly muddy from the cemetery, hung just over the edge of the mattress. He actually tapped his toes together once while Celia crawled into his frame, curling up tightly into his right side. Dean lifted his hips and sucked in his stomach when her arms threaded around his waist, her fingers linking on his left hip and her face nestled deep into his stomach. Dean draped his arm comfortably around her frame. Every careful, gentle move he made was in thought of comfort.

He felt the fabric of his shirt dampen and sink to stick to his stomach.

Celia spoke simply and quietly, shamelessly wiping her tears on his shirt. "Scared…thought ya'll were gone…"

Dean didn't speak, only letting his right hand rove up and down her side and shoulder, massaging her muscles and skin as gently as he could, but with enough strength to promise that he was solid and by her side. He stayed steady while she quietly cried herself out into his ribs, only moving his right hand soothingly up and down her side or lifting his left hand to pushed her hair back or wipe the sleeve of his flannel shirt over her raw eyes and cheeks. Dean tried to be neutral, even genderless, he doing his best to just be a living pillow or a stuffed animal and save the proud girl the horrific embarrassment of breaking down in front of anyone. The brush of thinking of his current position, Dean reached into her rumpled sheets and quilt, dug out the mountain lion toy he'd given her a two nights ago. He glanced between the puma and a well loved, stuffed black bear. Dean hesitated for a few seconds, wondering of he should make Celia make a choice and if she didn't choose the mountain lion would his feelings be hurt?

Dean decided to opt and set the mountain lion back down, stretching a little and snagging the black bear. He held it under Celia's nose. She blinked once or twice at the offering before burying her face deeper into Dean's side.

Dean set the bear back down, didn't bother reaching for the mountain lion and shifted under Celia for a few seconds before settling again. Dean heaved a deep sigh and continued to gently wind his right fingers in her tangled hair. Waiting, vigilant until her tremors subsided and her breathing eased making sure she was deep in sleep, before letting his eyes drift shut and unconsciousness crush him.

…

Sam ruffled his hair, blinking blearily and working his jaw to try and wake himself up, he felt sleep deprived…or pushing insanity. He was casually running his hand down the coarse furred back of the calf curled up next to his hip. Rosie was like some two hundred pound cat, a wheezing rattle of a noise rolling from her throat instead of a purr. Ever few seconds the calf's legs would twitch or she would grunt before settling. Sam's vision blurred a few times, he honestly couldn't understand why he was exhausted. He'd pulled all nighters and had his fair share of insomnia. Hell he was used to getting up before the crack of dawn. And he had a few hours sleep last night, restless but still sleep.

Sam's head nodded forward. His slowly moving hand over Rosie's back slowed until it stopped.

A sharp pain ripped across the sensitive skin of his right ear. Sam's eyes snapped open and he leaped to his feet, scrambling to put space between himself and the pain, dropping into a fighting stance.

Celia's cocked an eyebrow at him, wrinkling her nose. She looked several shades better than she had several hours earlier. Clean, unrumpled clothes that fit her frame; jeans, a black tee shirt and blue flannel unbuttoned over her shoulders replaced the over sized sweater and pajama bottoms. Her hair was brushed and loose around her shoulders and horns while she fiddled with band in her hands. She showed no signs of crying hysterically or hangover.

"Goddamn Sam, yer nothin' but a spooked horse, ya know that?" She said quietly, the younger Winchester tried not to show the shock on his face at the emotionless tone of her voice.

"You didn't have to flick me in the ear." Sam muttered in response.

"Ya better consider yerself lucky that's all I do to ya. Breakfast in ten, get cleaned up." Her boots thumped softly on the floor as she walked into the kitchen. Sam stayed in his fighting stance, watching her then Dean as his elder brother filed passed. Dean flicked his green eyes at Sam, then shook his head.

"Bitch."

Sam bit back a response and disgruntled stalked into the bathroom, snatching clean cloths from his duffle as he went. After a shave and brushing his teeth he felt more relaxed and calm, at least until he stepped into the kitchen, Dean sitting at the head of the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper, the sound of the three dogs crunching heavily through their kibble and Rosie lowing for attention and treats as Celia extracted homemade, drop biscuits from the oven, dumping them into a bowl and sitting them on the table along with apple butter and marmalade that Dean had slipped into the groceries, hand churned butter, a large jar of gold honey that Sam could only figure as collected directly from the hives out on the desert and coffee. Sam sat down next to Dean and stayed very still and quiet as Celia continued to pile food onto the table. Adding a large dish of thick slices of bacon and fat, venison sausages, fried in pepper and honey; a plate of scrambled eggs heavily mixed with cheese, wild mushrooms, and small green flecks that Sam would learn a little later were chopped jalapeno peppers. A glass pitcher of frosted milk, straight from one of the Greer's Guernsey dairy cows and a pitcher of orange juice were set in the middle of the table.

"What's all the food for?" Sam asked quietly, not moving even to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Celia was clearly sober and in her right mind. The way she had reacted towards his advances in a slightly drunken state gave him an idea that she didn't want anything to do with him. If she was like Dean, which she was, he was still on very thin sheet of ice over very cold and deep water.

"Jezebel and her friend are comin' in from Elko. She doesn't want anythin' to do with the city or the hospital or her momma right now." Celia informed him calmly, pulling out a large ceramic mug and pouring a thick cup of coffee for him and adding cream and sugar the way that Sam preferred it.

He accepted the cup and sipped it gingerly. Comfort food, in a few short hours Sam had forgotten that another male member of the Greer family was dead. He wondered if the line was cursed…was Elijah next?

Sam gagged at the thought, his throat constricting at the idea, coughing and choking, nearly dropping the coffee mug. He got some help from Dean and Celia pounding on his back until Sam could breathe easily.

"Ya alright?" Celia asked, looking a little shaken, her hands were actually shivering.

"I'm fine." Sam rasped.

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah, sorry." Sam panted. Celia rested a hand on his shoulder. Sam could feel the tremors in her palm and arm. "Red you're shaking."

"Just got scared for a second is all." Celia explained quietly. "I can't take another death…."

Sam looked at Dean, the unnerved feeling in Sam's stomach was written on his elder brother's face.

"Another death?" Dean asked quietly. "All he did was choke on coffee."

Celia shook her head. "Ya can die chokin' on coffee." She growled defensively and brushed them off, continuing to set the table, setting out a stack of dishes, glasses and a ceramic pot filled with knives, forks and spoons.

"Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my brother trying to kill himself." Dean snorted, picking up the paper and folding it to a certain page and setting it on the table. "Celia, there was another grass fire-"

"The hell!" She dropped the mug she was holding and snatched the paper off the table. She feverishly read the article and looked at the map. "Goddamnit it was south of here…I didn't get a call so maybe there weren't any-"

Her cell phone, sitting harmlessly on the counter near the door, jumped to life, humming out a Garth Brooks song. Celia stared at it like the phone was a rattle snake.

She carefully set the paper aside and picked the cell up, flipping it open and pressing it to her ear. "Red."

The brothers watched in silence, waiting, they understood that little piece of plastic and hardware had caused Celia more pain in the last twelve hours than any inanimate object should.

"How many?" Celia asked; her voice hard and tight. One hand braced across her jaw, her nails digging like claws into her own skin. "Where the hell does that put us!?!"

The sound of someone knocking on the front door drew their attention. Celia waved the brothers to deal with it while she cursed and scribbled notes from whoever was speaking to her.

"Well goddamnit I don't know how the hell to stop a natural disaster!"

Dean and Sam slipped through the kitchen, living room and into the front hall, pulling open the door and pushing back the screen door.

"Jamie?" Sam rasped.

The pretty, mocha skinned girl looked up in surprise. "Hi, Sam." She managed out. One of her arms was wrapped tightly around the shoulders of Jezebel Cree. The young woman looked like she was in complete shock, her face emotionless. It was sort of queer, disturbing even for Sam to see the girl that was practically Jessica Moore's doppelganger being comforted by the petite equestrian that he'd had a short fling with two days earlier.

"Hey Jezebel." Dean injected.

"Dean." The blonde muttered.

"C'mon, Celia's in the kitchen." Dean coxed Jezebel out from Jamie Freeman's shadow and steered her towards the kitchen where Celia was cursing violently. Sam and Jamie watched them go for a second before he turned his attention back to her.

"Jamie, I really didn't expect…"

" 'Bel and I went to school together. She and her parents lived up in Mountain City when we where kids." Jamie explained, stepping over the threshold and stripping off her dark red jacket. Sam took it and hung it on a hook in the front hall.

"I'm sorry I had to run off so fast." Sam pressed, looking at her, almost hungrily.

She shrugged, "Its no big deal, Sam. We all had to rush out of there, my mother always used to say that Pajacock would come down on you when you least wanted."

"Who?"

She smiled a little, "The weather, Sam." He smiled back and they walked together to the kitchen where the smells of the breakfast had filled the room. Dean was sitting next to Jezebel, being as gently charming as possible and coaxing a few smiles out of her while Celia stormed up and down the veranda, cursing and yelling into her cell phone. Sam pulled out a chair and waited for Jamie to take her seat before easing himself down next to her.

The four watched as Celia stopped just outside the door, snapping her phone shut and yanked her hat off her head, she threw it to the hard wood and looked remarkably like Yosemite Sam as she pitched a fit, stomping on the Stetson, cursing violently and throwing punches into the air.

After as half a minuet she stopped, took a few heaving breaths and fit her hat back into place on her head and stepped back into the kitchen.

"Alright, y'all hungry?" She said, somewhat breathless. Jezebel smiled genuinely for the first time.

It took nearly and hour and a half of good food and purposefully light hearted conversation before Jezebel started to participate and relax in their company. Celia offered her to stay in the Greer home but it was quickly refused by Jamie, who nearly broke into a rant about how she'd 'called dibs' first. Dean was glad for the decline. The imminent return of the Greer family that night made his stomach twist up in knots, having a grieving twenty year old in the house would have put him over the edge. But he was more than happy to entertain Celia and Jezebel while Sam chatted up Jamie on the other side of the table. A few casual glances in his brother's direction and Dean had to admit that the Winchester charm had not all been lost in his baby brother, just more subdued.

The casual brunch died suddenly when cell phones started to ring.

Celia's was first, another call about the recent fire to the south which she quickly dismissed, promising that she would get there as soon as possible.

Her cell rang a second time for the same reason and while she took it the conversation had lasted a total of a minuet and a half. Each time she snapped the cell phone shut it was clear that Celia's was getting more and more agitated.

The third call was to Sam, he took one look at the Treo screen, had a very small aneurysm and excused himself to take the call. Dean hoped that it had been Bobby or Ellen with some kind of help on their whole demonic possession and unnatural natural disaster case. Sam returned somewhat subdued.

"That was Mrs. Hernandez." He said sliding back into his seat. Celia froze for a second; her teeth gritting and trying very hard to get a hold of herself. Next to her Dean tensed, while the other two women at the table looked between them in mild confusion.

"They wanted to know if they should come back-"

"That hell do ya mean 'should come back'?"

"They're over at that little inn on main-"

"The Sand Rose?! Ya didn't send 'em home!?! What the hell is wrong with ya Samuel Winchester!" Celia barked, getting to her feet, pushing back one of the newly repaired chairs of the table and threatening to topple it completely to the floor.

"Damnnit Sam." Dean groaned.

"Red I just-"

"No." She barked, Celia stretched, reaching around and snagging her wallet from a small pile of her things on the counter top. She practically ripped out a twenty dollar bill and shoved it into Sam's hands.

"Red-"

"Here's what yer goin' to do, Sam." Celia said in a low, dangerous tone that was absolutely final. Not to be argued with. "Yer goin' to go saddle up a horse and trot into town, right up to the Sand Rose and ask Eileenn to call those ladies down. Yer gonna say 'I'm sorry, this was a big mistake on my part and I am very appreciative that ya made the trip all the way out here to give me a hand' ver batum, Sammy. Then yer goin' to use that money to take them over to the General, see Millie and yer goin' to buy them breakfast, thank 'em again and send 'em on their way."

"Red-"

"**No. Sam.**" She growled warningly.

"Celia if you just talked to them-"

She let a noise slip from her lips, something between a snarl and a sigh. Celia placed a hand on the table in front of Sam and the other on the back of the chair was he was sitting in, leaning heavily over him and right into his face. Sam actually edged back and away from her.

"Sam…do ya honestly want to put me back into a room with the creatures that I consider responsible for the death of my father?"

Sam swallowed thickly, practically slunk out of the chair, careful to avoid touching her and casting an apologetic look back at Jamie and Jezebel pulled on his boots and slipped out the door. Buckshot and Rosie, dozing casually on the veranda, perked up and trotted after him as Sam crossed the yard, glancing sideways to look at the injured, paint mare he'd dubbed Homewrecker and guilted Celia into trying to train. The mare looked antsy, totting in long-legged steps around the pipe fencing of the ring pen. She stopped dead in her tracks at seeing him, her ears jerking forward she snorted loudly, huffing air through her nostrils.

Sam stopped, the Red Fur calf and caramel and black German Shepherd trotting passed him. Sam made eye contact with the mare, studying her. She snorted loudly and stomped a hoof.

Sam let out a short, low whistle in return. The mare jumped, staring at him. Her ears swatted side ways then perked forward again. She whinnied, eyes locked on him waiting to find out what he would do. Sam couldn't help a small smile at the fact that Homewrecker was probably as fascinated by him as he was by her.

Sam whistled in return.

The mare nickered, bobbing her head and pawing at the earth. She snorted and whinnied again. Sam returned the whistle and it only seemed to please the painted mare more. She whinnied loudly. Encouraged Sam took a step towards the ring pen. The mare pinned her ears and spooked, jolting away from the near side the fence and galloping to the far side. Her eyes wild again she snorted warningly.

Deterred Sam turned back and continued on his way towards the barn, feeling the light pressure of failure in his heart. The mare watched him walk away and took a few steps towards the fence following Sam's progress until he was out of sight. Entering the barn Sam found the stalls empty. He followed the line of stalls to the end, hoping that one horse might have been penned in.

Nothing. Following some ingrained instinct Sam stepped into the tack room, snagging a blue, nylon halter and lead rope off a hook on the wall. Stepping out of the tack room and after heaving to push it open, stepped out of the massive double doors into the Wounded Heart open pasture. Sam took a few steps into the short grass and scrub, Buckshot and Rosie pushing passed him to wander off, the Red Fur calf catching sight of part of the herd far off and broke into a gallop, her identification tags jingling on the leather collar as she loped across the land.

Sam looked around, spotting a few horses several hundred yards off. Sam filled his chest with air and whistled as loud as he could. The small group of horses' heads jerked up, ears flinging forward. A few of them nickered, a few heads dropping back to continue grazing. Sam whistled again, dimly wondering why he was going to the trouble of catching, tacking and riding a horse into town when he could have easily taken the Impala.

Maybe it was because Celia told him too, or maybe it was that mystique of a little nowhere town with roads still unpaved only packed earth…like Tuscarora…and with public hitch posts for horses out front of a slatted wooden boardwalk along the store fronts…like Tuscarora…where there was little use for gasoline and motor vehicles except to do the heaviest of hauling or make long trips for supplies…like Tuscarora. Sam watched as four of the six horses broke off their grazing and started trotting towards him.

It startled Sam suddenly, thinking about Tuscarora itself. It couldn't exist, it wasn't a reality anymore. Lines of family owned and run shops, only the greatest of necessities. General stores, tack and feed shop, no local police just a posting of the Nevada state Sheriffs department and State Troopers that considered themselves the local police. A public stable that went majorly unused and an old rodeo arena and spectator stands that were only in use for small shows when the few miniature local towns in the county decided to have an oversized barbeque. A little white church and a cemetery with stones as old as the town itself, a tiny hospital that really was just the refurnished barn and stable of the local doctor and similarly for the vet office, working out of their own ranch homes. A bank that still had iron barns where in modern day they had been replaced with solid steel. A small elementary and high school, the pride and joy of the whole town the little, senior football team. Residents living in the small apartments over their shops or on the vast acreages of hundred year old family farms, like the Wounded Heart ranch that was nearly seven miles out of the main cluster of the town. If there were parking lots they where made out of a layer of gravel over the dirt hard pack over two hundred years old.

It was a town where there were more horses and cattle than people. Surrounded by the rolling, short grassed and scrub prairies for miles until the horizon met the sky; backwoods, canyons and clear slate rivers. In the spring, the dogwoods and blossom trees and bloom, and the lazy heat summer with nothing but green, the browns and reds matched by the rolling fields of gold in the approaching fall and the still peace of a thick blanket of white. Most of it never feeling the impression of a human step, only the tracks of predators and hoofed animals to speak of.

A place where the earth and wilderness didn't suffocate the lives of the town tucked into its embrace, it helped the town breathe and exist.

The Winchester had never done anything but travel from place to place, hunting and hiding. But never a place so set in the past like Tuscarora.

The four horses picked up their paces, trotting up to him then slowing to cluster around. To Sam's relief one of them was Cottoneye Cloud. Sam easily slipped the halter over the palomino's head and buckled it into place, snapping the lead rope into the chin ring and tugged the massive quarter horse after him.

The other three animals each accepted a pat before casually returning to grazing. Sam was a little more than lost in thought as he went through the motions of tacking up Cottoneye Cloud.

How could a place that was supposed to only exist within a Lonesome Dove novel or a western movie be here in reality? So untouched by industry and mechanization…Some people called that place the holy land, sacred and pure.

Sam sniffed, laughing a little deep in his throat. There was a poem that he'd studied in one of his English classes at Stanford.

_Some Paradise Where Horses Go_. A work by Stanley Harrison. The memory of the poem prompted Sam to speak; the only way he'd ever memorized poems and sonnets was by reciting them out loud over and over.

"_Somewhere in time's on space, There must be some sweet pastured place."_

Cottoneye Cloud nickered, flicking his ears back towards him. Sam unclipped the lead rope from the palomino's halter, backed him up a few steps and slipped his boot into the stirrup. With a single bounce Sam vaulted into place on the saddle, settling himself and slipping his boot into the other stirrup.

"_Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow, Some paradise where horses go."_

Sam clicked his tongue and trotted Cottoneye Cloud along the line of stalls and out into the yard, stepping around a small, scarlet pick up truck, a Ford Ranger.

"_For by the love that guides my pen-"_

"_I know great horses live again."_ Someone finished.

Sam jumped, startling the palomino horse. Cottoneye Cloud nickered sharply, spinning in place until Sam tugged his reins to hold still.

"Sorry, Sam."

Sam let out a breath of relief, "Jesus. You scared me, Jamie." Sam sighed smiling and relaxing. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, after that whole thing it kinda got uncomfortable, we needed to head out anyway. But look at you, poetry?"

Sam blushed slightly, dipping his head.

"And Stanley Harrison on that. One of my favorites, that 'paradise' poem." Jamie leaned back against the side of the red pickup. Sam smiled, feeling a little tight around the collar.

"You know she isn't mad at you, right Sam?"

Sam cocked his head at her.

"Red, I mean."

Sam snorted out of his nose, trying not to roll his eyes.

"She's not Sam. She's really fond of you, you know that?"

"Sure she is-"

"Sam." Jamie spoke sternly. The pretty, mocha skinned young woman flicked a few locks of chocolate hair behind her ear. "We saw you and that mare. First thing she said was 'Damn, he sure as hell can speak the language'. Sam that is a _huge_ compliment, especially coming from someone like Red. She's just a little upset about whatever the hell you did…" She looked at him questioningly, leaving the sentence open.

"-I invited the mother and daughter that were victims of Nathaniel Greer's last case into Wounded Heart and pretty much sprung them on Red, hoping she would talk it out with them and kill her grudge."

Jamie hissed a little, her teeth clenched and face twisted in sympathy

"Oh…that was stupid Sam."

He rolled his eyes heavenward.

"-but she's just a little pissed about that and the way the BLM is breathing down her neck. But she isn't mad directly at you."

Sam shook his head and dug his heels into Cottoneye Cloud's sides edging the horse into a walk away from her. Jamie reached out and snagged the reins, tugging the palomino back and stepped up into the animal's shoulder.

"Believe me Sam. You fucked up royally, but she knows you had good intentions and she won't blame you for anymore than that. Trust me, Sam. _No one_ in that room believes you anything but a good man."

Sam searched her face for a second, then in a very Marshall Dillon and Miss Kitty sort of way, Sam bent in the saddle and gently pressed a kiss to Jamie's lips, forcing the petite woman to tilt her head back to deepen the sensation.

And much like Marshall Dillon Sam broke off the kiss, pressing his forehead into hers for a second before letting out a low whistle and tapped his heels into Cottoneye Cloud. The palomino horse snorted and lunged into a gallop. The horse cantered out of the gate and down the main road. Jamie lifted a hand, touching her lips for a second and watching him. Sam was twisted around in the saddle, looking back at her for a second before returning his attention to the road ahead of the loping horse.

"Damn…" Jamie muttered, finally blushing and smiling a little, "…they sure as hell are right 'bout Winchesters…"

…

Sam sat comfortably in the saddle. His position rising and falling in a rhythm of the rolling loping step of Cottoneye Cloud's pace. His mind was spinning with his actions and Jamie Freeman's words. He shook it off, concentrating on keeping Cottoneye Cloud's pace even and lax. He didn't want the palomino to wear himself out. Sam followed the same trail that several days before had taken Sam, Dean and Celia through town, out into open country and through a storm looking for wild horses and Honeycatcher, who was still locked up in the round pen with his stolen family of mustangs. The easy going lope carried Sam over the seven miles from Wounded Heart into the skirts of the Tuscarora main strip, passed the small white church, stables and arena. Sam checked Cottoneye Cloud's pace to a walk as he neared Dubois home. The old woman was out on the porch, like she had never left the spot, with a blanket over her legs. The only difference this time around there was s slender, kind looking black woman tucking the quilt in around Dubois legs and holding a book out to her.

Sam steered Cottoneye Cloud a step over and stopped just in front of Dubois, the grizzled old woman glared at him, her teeth seemed even more knarled and her eyes rimmed in yellow like some predatory animal. Sam dipped his head in respect.

"Morning Mrs. Dubois." He called, putting on his best smile. "I hope you're feeling as fine as you look."

Of course Sam didn't say a word about what she looked like. But the words from a handsome young man hit home right where Sam wanted it to.

She looked a little flustered and lifted a hand to pat her hair. The nurse looked between Dubois and Sam, she gave the youngest Winchester a small, approving smile.

"Well, I suppose I do." Dubois ground out.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Dubois." Sam was seriously laying it on thick as he tapped his heels into Cottoneye Cloud's gut and sent the palomino off at the trot again.

"Fine young man." The nurse said with a smile.

"Yes, very fine." Dubois twisted in her seat to watch Sam's back. The younger Winchester smiled, giving his head a little shake to get his mop of hair out of his eyes. He soaked in Tuscarora and the more he saw more he found his description accurate. Looking left, beyond the main row of shops Sam could see the schools and playing fields, the hospital and vet office. Looking right he was met mostly with the old, but well kept buildings of the Tuscarora main strip, a cluster of non-ranch residences around a kids play park. Sam was curious about the massive statue mounted on a marble pedestal in the middle of the park, surrounded by the sand pit and erected, majorly wood and steel play ground. Sam noticed two, dark haired women sitting calmly on a bench and watching three kids under the age of seven tear around the structures. One kid, a blonde boy stopped short in the game of chase and looked up at Sam on the massive Cottoneye Cloud. Sam dipped his head and lifted a hand, receiving an enthusiastic wave from the kid and lifted hands from the mothers.

His vision was altered a little as Sam could see the small structures connected to almost every building of a small paddock and standing shelter for horses or some other form of livestock. And most of them at least had one horse, mule or donkey behind the wooden fencing.

Tuscarora seemed so alive with the appearance of people, Sam felt a little more at ease. The pure silence and lack of humanity during the holiday weekend made the place seem more like a ghost town than it should have. Now there was activity. Windows and doors were thrown open wide, music poured out of shop fronts. Dogs, cats and a few other animals after being locked into yards and houses for the long weekend strolled through the unpaved street, reconnecting friendships and picking fights with each other seemingly regardless of the humans around them. Everyone was talking and laughing, sitting on benches or leaning against the railing of the boardwalk in front of their favorite shops, or walking on the packed earth in small groups, some even standing in small clusters right in the middle of the roads and intersections, if that's what they could be called. Sam wasn't the only one with a horse. That he could see there was one man leading a large bay horse by the halter across the streets. Several people were casually riding up and down the dirt pack at different paces, some in groups others alone. Sam even noticed a buggy pulled by a pair of matching black horses. There were tacked animals tied by their reins to the hitch posts next to bare backed horses and a few parked work trucks, their paint chipped and peeling most of them several decades old.

Sam felt oddly well hidden in the populace of Tuscarora, most wore the same attire that he and his elder brother kept up with: jeans, tee shirts, flannels, works boots and there was no end to the number of Stetson and faded baseball caps. Those that weren't dressed so relaxed were majorly willowy, heart shape faced women in pale colored sun dresses and hats that belonged in the twenties, thirties and forties. Several of them casting appreciative looks in Sam's direction, one or two fanning themselves slightly, though the temperature was rather mild.

The only reason the younger Winchester got strange looks was because he was unfamiliar, a stranger in a knit community. But no one did much more than cast him a questioning look or nod respectfully at him. Sam picked up Cottoneye Cloud's pace and turned down a street, slowing the animal down again as the trotted passed a few houses, a small trinkets shop that with a glance Sam knew he would have to visit. The windows were full of crystals, large old leather books and other suggestive occult items. The woman sweeping the board walk out front of the open door was dressed in a large, tie dyed tunic shirt and baggy jeans. And like most of the children of Tuscarora, bare foot. Her neck was laden with strings of beads. She didn't seem to even notice him.

Sam checked Cottoneye Cloud's pace as he slid up to the sedan parked in front of an old fashioned, two story inn. The building was made of stone work and carefully laid logs. The boardwalk in front of the building was wider, more of a porch than the boardwalk on either side. Comfortable looking chairs and benches made of raw wood sat empty around the thrown open door and massive glass windows. A few tendrils of ivy still clung to their green as they crawled up the outside of the inn and tangled in a large wrought iron sign on the roof of the porch over hang depicted a blossom and the words: **Sand Rose Inn**. Sam dismounted, and easily tied the reins of the bridle to one of the hitch rings screwed into place on the rounded log railing of the porch.

Sam dusted himself off, trotting up the steps and in the open door. The lobby of the inn looked more like a small café. Little round top tables and curled backed chairs were set up on the worn and scratched hardwood. A counter top was of polished wood looked like it had been a bar at one time but had in changing times proved to be a perfectly suitable concierge desk. Mail slots, cubbies for fresh towels, robes and sheets, small stacks of clean coffee cups and small dishes had taken up the place one stocked with alcohol and glasses. A few glass displays were laden with cookies, cakes and other pastries were displayed on top of the counter and small packages of exotic coffees for sale were stacked up on a shelf above the cubbies. Two larger coffee machines bubbled happily behind the counter. A large, old fashioned cash machine sat on one end of the counter along with two large books that must have been legers or book keeping numbers.

A plump, gentle looking blonde stood behind the counter and a kid in his late teens scrubbed down tables, the morning rush clearly over as it was starting to push noon.

"Can I help ya?" The blonde asked with a bright smile.

"Hi, would you call down the Hernandezs please?" Sam asked, leaning across the counter between two upholstered bar stools.

"Who should I say?" The blonde asked, already putting the phone to her ear and dialing the number.

"Sam."

The youngest Winchester stepped back, walking slowly around the room with his hands tucked deep in his pockets while he inspected the large pieces of art. Black and white photographs that looked like they were taken of Tuscarora itself or a stock round up. He particularly liked one taken of a silhouette of a cowboy on horseback. The sun was right behind the man, making the picture a monochromatic of golds and black, as the cowboy was caught in mid swing of his latigo rope from atop his horse. Sam noticed it was for sale at a reasonably cheap price for such a large print. He did a double take at the name of the photographer.

_C. Northwind, 2001; "Pickup Man I"_

Sam snorted a little. "Just when you think…"

"Sam?"

The mop haired man looked up at Marisol and Harmony as the two women made their way down the stairs from their room to greet him

"Is everything alright?" Harmony asked, walking right up to the Winchester brother.

"Not as good as it could be." Sam admitted, he's grown somewhat fond of the two women while they had sat in the Greer home living room, talking casually. "After what happened, Red went out and got herself plowed." He said with some brutal honesty.

"Is she alright?" Harmony asked.

"Dean handled it." Sam assured. "It wasn't a very good idea-"

"Sam you were only trying to help your friend." Marisol assured him. Sam shook his head a little.

"Well, she sent me over to thank you for coming but…" Sam trailed off, rubbing a hand across his neck.

"She wants no part off it." Harmony sighed. "Perhaps if I tried-"

Sam shook his head. "I haven't seen her react so violently before. I mean, all she did was pull a gun on me then try to slice my throat. But lunging at you guys that way…" _Thank God for Dean_… "…I think I'm going to go with her on this one. I'm sorry you came all this way-"

"Sam, are you sure that there is nothing we can do?" Harmony protested. "I must say that it is somewhat my fault her family is without its father."

Sam bristled slightly, seeing Nathaniel in as much reality as he was last night had connected the man with Sam's view of life. The younger Winchester fought back the urge to lash out verbally or physically and settled himself.

"It was a long time ago, Mrs. Hernandez." Sam pushed his best 'condolences' tone. "And again I really appreciate you're attempt. Can I offer you two brunch, at the very least?"

The two women looked between each other, Sam had a distinct feeling they were carrying on a conversation without him.

"Of course Sam, we would like that very much." Harmony agreed.

"Lead the way." Marisol tried to sound lighthearted. Sam nodded and started for the door.

"Sam." The plump blonde behind the counter said in a means of goodbye.

"Eileen." Sam returned with a dip of his head, not sure if the name came to him from a subconscious glance at her nametag or from a suppressed memory.

The younger Winchester dropped down the steps, crossed and untied Cottoneye Cloud's reins, waiting with the horse for the two Latino women.

"It that your horse?" Marisol asked.

"No, just one of Red's." Sam said somewhat shortly.

"It seems to us that everyone around here rides a horse or walks." Harmony tried to laugh. Sam was starting to get a little frustrated with the two women. He knew she wasn't insulting Tuscarora, just making the same observation that he had. But the way she said it made Sam think irrationally that she was attacking the paradise he'd concocted in his mind.

"Easiest way to get around out here." Sam supplied, smoothing over his voice. Marisol boldly reached forward to scratch Cottoneye Cloud's nose.

The palomino jerked back, whinnying loudly and rearing up. The noise of the air blowing through the horses' nostrils sounded like a roar.

Startled, Sam grabbed a hold of the reins, yanked the stud horse down to his feet and back. Just like Celia had with Strawbury when Sam had reached for the colt, Sam was quickly turning Cottoneye Cloud in tight, almost uncomfortable circles. The horse calmed almost immediately. Relaxing and following Sam's directing and listening to his words intently. Sam didn't know if he was more surprised by the normally gentle stud's behavior or if it was the small spike of satisfaction the horses' reaction gave him.

"You okay?" Sam asked quickly. Marisol nodded from her place half hidden next to her mother. "Don't know what got into him. He's usually really clam." Sam patted the palomino's jaw.

"I'll take you word for it."

The walk across Tuscarora towards the General store that Celia mentioned was done in silence except for the sound of leather and metal in Cottoneye Cloud's saddle creaking and hoof beats.

Sam looked over the sign above the old general and smiled: **Rosa's General**.

The younger Winchester tied the reins on a hitch ring again, this time making sure that the palomino was close enough to a public horse trough to reach the water. Sam patted the gold furred side and led the way up the steps, across the board walk and into the Rosa's General. Another blonde, a little older than Sam with bright blue eyes looked up from the article in the newspaper she was reading, a smile broke out over her face.

Sam couldn't help but return it. He glanced around and noticed a few older men playing a game on the pool table by the window, a man in jeans, a black shirt and a reverend's collar and a slender, dark haired man in a Nevada State Trooper's uniform sat at the counter. The Trooper was happily cradling a gurgling, blonde headed baby in his lap.

"How can I help ya?" The pretty woman asked, clearly being formal as he was a strange face to her. Sam had half expected her to recognize and call him out.

"Millie, right?" Sam inquired, feeling the Hernandez women nearer to his back than he would have liked.

"Yessir."

"I needed to get breakfast for these two ladies." Sam carefully herded the two women into stools at the ice cream styled counter top.

"Well alright, how 'bout a Sunday Specials? It's got a little bit of everythin' in it and not just for the Sabbath." Millie coxed with a grin.

"Sounds wonderful." Harmony assured with a warm smile.

"Alright, two Sunday Specials, be right on in a few." Millie immediately went about her business of extracting tools and raw materials to make the food, cranking on a stove top against the wall on the other side of the counter and within a few minuets the general store was filled with the smell of frying bacon and potatoes. Sam was a little surprised but didn't speak. He hadn't noticed a real restaurant in Tuscarora, just the café in the Sand Rose and evidently here at Rosa's General. A quick glance at the painted chalk board menu eased the tension in Sam's stomach and he relaxed at the two meals would only eat about fifteen dollars of the twenty that Celia gave him.

"There a particular reason ya ridin' a Wounded Heart horse, stranger?"

Sam turned his eyes to the casual but clearly inquisitive eyes of the Trooper, still cradling the baby in his lap.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, instinctively going on the defense.

"That stud's got the Greer freeze brand on him." The Trooper motioned to Cottoneye Cloud casually sucking water over his bit out side the wide front window. Sam's eyes followed the motion of the Trooper's hand to the discoloration of white low on the palomino's shoulder. Sam had always taken it for a scar, never made a connection in his mind that it was a brand. Now that someone pointed it out Sam realized that all the horses on the Wounded Heart Ranch, the cattle and other livestock, even the air ride trailer and the saddles had the same mark.

Dean and Sam had mistaken it for some Native American symbol.

"The heart over W H R." The trooper continued. "Now I know for a fact Wounded Heart horses don't get lent out. Why ya ridin' that stud?"

Sam felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. He needed to come up with something fast and believable and the longer he stalled the more likely he was to get into serious trouble. They were already running from the law, getting arrested in small town USA would tighten a noose around the brother's necks.

"I let him ride that animal; ya got a problem with it, Justin?"

Sam tensed; the muscles in his back locking up and he twisted to look over his shoulder. Celia stood in the door, still in her jeans but the tee shirt had been replaced with a close fitting red and white flannel buttoned down the front, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and untucked. Her hair was tied back under a doeskin Stetson hat; a pair of dark sunglasses were settled across the bridge of her nose and he had her hands firmly on her hips.

"Just wonderin' there, Red." Justin said, bouncing the baby.

"Pay Millie Sam and get in the truck." Celia ordered.

Sam couldn't tell where her eyes were behind the glasses but it seemed that she was pointedly ignoring the presence of the Hernandez women in the room, and like everyone else in the general Sam could feel the air thicken as Celia's hackles were clearly up. Sam knew she was pushing every once of her self control to keep steady and not lash out.

"Red-"

"Don't argue with me Sam, we a job to do, yer brother's waitin' on ya." Celia's dead response left no room for argument.

Sam hesitated, thinking of rebellion but his resolve broke at the gurgle of the baby barely two feet from where he stood. The younger Winchester slipped the twenty out of his pocket and set it on the counter between Marisol and Harmony Hernandez and swiftly crossed the room towards the door.

"Millie, put that quarter horse in the round pen for me, I'll come get him later." Celia said and turned with Sam to walk out the door.

"Yes, ma'am." Millie said flipping a pancake on the griddle as the pair stalked out of the room. The patrons in the general watched as Sam and Celia approached Dean standing next to the white Silverado, spoke briefly before climbing into the cab and pulling out onto the unpaved road.

"Red's sure as hell fit to be tied 'bout somethin'…" Justin muttered, "…and takin' up with strange folk like that kid…"

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**Much Love Read and Review Please**


	30. Returning Normalcy

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Thirty: Returning Normalcy**

"**The trouble with normal is that it always gets worse…"**

**-Bruce Cockburn**

…

_Thirty five miles south of Tuscarora; just off Copperhead Road; _

Sam felt Dean's hand lightly pat his back, rubbing up towards and messaging the back of his neck. Sam choked and dry heaved one more time before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and forcing his breathing to even out again.

"Better?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam said truthfully. He scrunched his eyes closed and focused completely on breathing, letting Dean stand vigilantly over him. The elder Winchester sighed, between his little brother and Celia he was starting to feel like a babysitting guard dog.

Celia cast a glance at the two brothers a few hundred yards away.

"Are ya sure he's alright?"

"He's fine, Mrs. Riker. Just one of his episodes." Celia assured the timid looking brunette. The woman kept throwing looks towards Sam and Dean between repeating her account to Celia.

"Seizures, ya say?"

"Yes ma'am. He's on medications." Celia said quickly, hoping that she could grab the woman's attention again. It wasn't exactly effective as Celia herself was shivering violently in her gut with the pure need to get over and help Sam herself. She didn't know if all visions were this painful for all psychics (and somewhere deep in her gut she hoped it was for the others), but for Sam she was enraged that he suffered. It only deepened her hate for the seer's affliction.

"Mrs. Riker, ya said ya saw a strike of lightenin' start the whole fire?"

Mrs. Riker turned back to look at Celia, she ran a slightly shaky hand through her dark hair and rubbing across her blue eyes. "Yes-"

"Can ya start from the beginnin' for me?"

Mrs. Riker looked at Celia a little strangely. "I already spoke to the Rangers."

"I'm not a Ranger, Mrs. Riker, I'm BLM. We lost ponies and wild-life out there and I need a report, too." Celia pressed. Mrs. Riker nodded slowly, as if just barely understanding.

"Can ya start at the beginin'?"

"Two days ago, early in the mornin', I was out on my mare in the far northern paddock." Mrs. Riker pointed towards the direction of the paddock. "Along the fence line. Storm had been movin' in and ya could smell it, ya know what I mean, smell the heat lightenin'."

Celia nodded, watching and listening to the older woman intently.

"Well, I was thinkin' there wasn't anythin' to be afraid of, been rainin' enough that fires like they've been havin' up north-" Mrs. Riker shook her head, "- didn't think for a second it could happen down here. I heard the ponies screamin'. There was a little band up that way for the last week or so. And I was watchin' the ridge and heat lightenin' struck ground. A few minuets later I could smell smoke, the mare spooked and…"

Celia waited silently for a few seconds while Mrs. Riker shook herself a little and pushed back through the memories.

"… the sound those animals made up on the ridge. I would have gone then, but the mare saw flames and couldn't take it anymore and she bolted, took me with her. Called the Rangers as soon as I got back."

"Ya went out yesterday?"

She nodded and shivered, "…it's aweful, I won't go back if yer askin' that-"

"No, ma'am. Just how far do ya figure it went?"

"It was black ground from just over that ridge for about ten miles or so, then its tree line, I wouldn't go that way so if it's further than that I just don't know. Those animals were dead all over, like they never even ran, just stood there and burned."

Celia repressed a deep shudder and kept an emotionless face. "Thank ya, Mrs. Riker, I appreciate the help, but I need to ask ya, ya've had any problems with predators recently?"

"Nothin' of ours been taken." Mrs. Riker admitted, "A filly of mine came back with her flanks all shredded and I've seen puma track a lot recently, so I figure one just got up on her, nothin' the vet couldn't take care of."

"Puma?"

"Yeah, big one, too. And roamin' all over. Tracks just 'bout every where."

"Thanks very much, Mrs. Riker. I'll give ya call if I need anythin' and ya give me a holler if ya think of anythin' that might be helpful." Celia handed her a business card with her name, the Wounded Heart Ranch brand and her phone and e-mail on it. Mrs. Riker nodded and watched as the red eyed woman touched the brim of her hat in salute and turned to walk across and down the steps of the porch, towards Sam and Dean, the former leaning heavily against the side of her truck.

"Sammy, ya alright?" Celia asked stepping over. He shook his bowed head, his mop hair shading his eyes and his skin slick with sweat. Sam shivered once, looking incredibly small for one so tall.

"It changed." Sam said quietly. "The vision, I think it's different…'m not sure…"

Dean let out a low growl and tensed up. He grabbed Sam's arm roughly and hauled him around to the far side of the truck and well out of sight of the ranch home. Celia growled at him for the rough treatment but followed hot on their heels.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean pressed.

"The horse was running from the storm, that brown and white one-"

"Brown and white?" Celia asked, she had gone rigid and paled a little around the edges of her face.

"Yeah, the Chieftain-"

Celia jerked a step back from him like he was a poisonous snake, starting at Sam in shock. One hard went to her mouth for a second before she braced both hands on the sides of her head, digging and tangling into her hair; she threw her head back and paced in a short circle. She was snarling under her breath in some Native language that neither brother recognized or understood.

"Celia-"

"Yer sayin' the Chieftain's been visitin' ya in dreams?" Celia asked harshly.

"In visions, yeah." Sam agreed, he noticed the wince she made at the word 'visions' and how she avoided it all together.

"Me, too. In dreams." Dean avoided the mention of the resurfaced memory of himself riding the back of the Chieftain with Sam in his arms. "The Chieftain and a crow."

Celia's head snapped around so hard Dean heard a very soft crackle and she flinched in pain. Then her eyes rolled upward. "Oh it just gets better and better, don't it!?!"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Red-"

"Look, fellas. The Chieftain is a god, alright!? Crow, too!? Not one of those bull crap, pagan imported from god knows where in Europe and hauled here to the meltin' pot kind of deity. This is hardcore, straight from the earth and sky Native land god, this is _their_ lands."

"We've run against gods before-" Sam started.

"No. Not like this." Celia snapped, waving her hand at him. Her eyes flicked to the porch of the house where Mrs. Riker was up on her tip toes trying to see them. "We'll talk later."

"Celia-"

"No!" Celia snapped in Dean's face, baring her teeth at him and growling, she dropped her voice. "No. We gotta head up over that ridge and take a look at fresh burnout. Either stay here or follow."

She tugged her Stetson down a little and turned, starting up the slope.

Dean watched her hand rove around to the small of her back, lifted her shirt and ran her fingers lightly over the sleek metal of a handgun, the flash only there for a heartbeat before her shirt was tugged back down but it was all Dean needed to recognize the distinct shape of a .50 AE caliber Desert Eagle pistol. For a second Dean's gut twisted sharply, emotion slammed roughly into him. An unsettling mix of being unnerved and sheer excitement, a small spark of fear thrown in for good measure; it made his stomach churn in a far from unpleasant way. He hadn't even seen her slide the gun between her jeans and lower back. The elder Winchester swallowed thickly, roped in his emotions and started up the slope after her, his head buzzing with the idea of Celia being so comfortable to choose such a high powered firearm to carry.

Sam stepped in after him, the brothers trudging shoulder to shoulder on Celia's tail. They noticed the distinct change in her behavior as she went from pissed and uptight to a full predator. Even from behind her the brothers could tell that her eyes were flying around the immediate area, her head twitching from side to side and Dean had the distinct feeling that she was scenting. Once when her head was twisted profile he noticed her nostrils flaring.

Her steps were lengthened, carefully placed under her. It was a rolling, animalistic stride, wolf like. Dean half expected her to drop down onto all fours; he wondered what Celia saw, smelled, heard and noticed beyond the limitations of the brother's senses. She suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, literally mid stride, Celia was balanced on one foot the other raised to fall in her next step. Her eyes were locked on a point somewhere far to her right.

Scratch wolf. Horse.

Dean's eyes followed the swayed, curved line of Celia's spine, the tense pause and coiling in her muscles. Being surrounded by the species for the last five days must have been affecting Dean without knowing; he easily recognized and marked the distinct equus qualities of a spooked mare in Celia's frame. Dean kept moving, even as she stopped, dragging his eyes away from her to scan the distant, thin tree line, looking for what she saw. He couldn't pick it out; instead Dean dropped his hand to Celia's shoulder.

She jumped, balking with a grunt noise deep in her throat that sounded like a stifled yelp before she realized it was Dean. He couldn't help a teasing smile.

"Bastard." Celia snapped, punching him in the side. Dean jerked back; half doubling over and coughing loudly, the blow was to low to glance ribs only sinking into the soft tissues of his gut. Sam snorted a little and received his own smack across the back of his head.

Sam grumbled but the sudden spurt of friendly aggression between the three put him into a playful mood and he started to lunge at his brother. Out of the corner of his eye something made the younger Winchester skid, slipping and crashed hard to the earth.

Dean looked startled down at his brother but twitched as Celia strode passed them both.

"Damn…" Dean breathed.

"I'm glad I threw up." Sam muttered.

Celia stopped and stood over the carcass. She heaved a deep sigh and rested her hands on her hips. "Shit." She muttered, more like an annoyed disappointment than anything else. She pulled a pair of gloves out of her back pocket and tugged them on. Sam pushed himself up, startled to find is hands and pants streaked black and gray with ash. He tried to dust himself off and glanced around. The roll over of the ridge was still green but it looked like streaks of fire had bitten into the grass, catching together and becoming a sheer blanket of blackened earth and charcoal. It still smelled like fire and Sam could actually feel the heat still crackling, as if it was hidden just out of sight. He flinched. The carcass Celia was inspecting wasn't the only one. Scattered across the scorched terrain were a dozen or more other heaps of flesh. Some looked like mutilated livestock did, practically shredded, like a lion kill. Others looked, for lack of a better term, liquefied by the fire, muscle and organs melted right off the blackened and crumbling bones. It was an eerie graveyard. The brothers stepped around to see what Celia was doing. She was squatted back on her heels, inspecting the mutilated animal.

"That was a mustang, right?" Dean asked quietly.

"Once." Celia muttered, she reached forward, grabbed a hold of the exposed ribs and pulled back, trying to open the body cavity better to see. She lost her balance and nearly tipped over when the bones and thin flesh broke off in her hand. Celia snarled a curse and tossed the shattered ribs aside, bending and rubbing her face across her bare forearm.

"Damn." She muttered, looking around the blackened stretch of earth again before something caught her eyes in the ash. Instead of standing she planted a hand and crab walked forward, edging around the dead horse and bending low. She traced a shape in the ash.

"A firestorm did this?" Sam asked.

"No, boys c'mere." Celia motioned them over; she shifted around closer inspecting the mutilated animal. She saw the signs she was looking for. She glanced over her left and right shoulders as the brothers stepped in at her command. "Alright, look here, ya see the way that bone's clawed up? Broken?"

"Yeah." Dean muttered. Noticing how business like Celia sounded. The factual way she spoke and pointed things out, this was her element, her business. Equine anatomy, predator behavior, tracking and scene diagnosis, she was a seasoned veteran when it came to the way that one animal could destroy another.

"It looks like it was pulled out the wrong way…" Sam muttered, "…it's splintered on the outer side, not the inner."

Celia nodded, "And these tool marks ain't tools, its teeth, I figure, the patternin' is strange, angled one way then the other. Like it chewed for a little while lookin' east then turned to look west and kept chewin'."

"So a coyote or something came in last night and munched on it?" Dean grumbled.

"Look 'round, ya see any coyote track?" Celia snapped back at him. "Fire scares of predators, even starvin' ones. They don't like the smell. We're the first ones that's been near it." Celia reached out, grabbed a hold of one furred ear, still attached to the skull with tissues. She pulled, yanking the half stripped skull off the ground. Sam gagged a little as a soupy mix spilled out of the crushed side of the skull, pooling on the earth before Celia let go of the ear. The skull dropped back into the puddle with a wet thump, splashing a little of the fluids across the ground. Dean coughed loudly, a hand instinctively lifting to cover her nose and mouth for a second.

"Damn." Celia muttered softly.

"Celia, are you alright?" Dean asked quietly. He knew how important mustangs and horses were to her.

She looked at him, cocking her head to the side slightly. "I'm fine, why?"

"Well…" Dean made a motion at the carcass. "It's kind of upsetting…"

"I appreciate ya worrin' 'bout my feelin's but after what I've seen I can eat soup outta this mustang's head, Dean."

Both brothers could tell she was absolutely serious, it made them flinch, groan and shift uncomfortably.

"This critter's been stripped. Soft organs, muscle, thin and heavy marrow." Celia muttered, she motioned her hand over the gutted out neck, it was mostly the spine and gnawed ropes of tissue. "Neck's broken between the sixth and seventh…"

"It looks like the bones broke then collided again." Dean muttered.

"Yeah, it was hauled, a downward break. It was weight from underneath." Celia lifted a gloved hand, curling her fingers into a claw and made a downward motion at the base of her throat. "It's predatory."

"This was an animal kill?" Dean asked.

"Pack kill. The left hind tibia is splintered." Celia motioned towards the broken bones that may have been a hind leg at one point. "A second predator caught it on the hocks, got right in the bone there, but the angle of the shatter pattern…" Celia shook her head a little.

"So this was wolves?" Dean asked, trying to figure out how a pack of wolves would set a fire, kill and mutilate half dozen animals at the same time. Celia shook her head.

"That low break in the neck. It's leonine, not canine." Celia pushed herself up to her feet. "Puma track everywhere…"

"Mountain lions don't hunt in prides." Sam declared watching as Celia slowly walked around, her hands at her sides; she would stop and squat once or twice, looking at something a little closer. She stopped once and lifted a large Golden Eagle feather from the earth, turning it over and over in her hands, taking it with her as she moved. She even wandered over to what at one point had been a painted horse, inspecting its mutilated body before growling low in her throat. She sudden sat down on the ground, drew her legs up and draped an arm off each bent knee, still twirling the feather between her fingers. Her head hung forward.

"Red?" Sam called loudly stepping towards her. Dean already a stride a head of him.

"Yer right Sam. I wasn't." Celia said, her voice stopping both brothers in their tracks. She glanced sideways at them, looking over her shoulder. The wind kicked up, a chill with it. Dean looked up as a deep rumble growled over head. Thick, gray clouds rolled in slowly, bubbling up ominously and threatening a storm.

"Thought I had it all figured out, been just damn wrong…" Celia growled. "…they ain't causin' the storms, just usin' 'em for cover."

"Red, mountain lions don't hunt in prides-"

"No…but I know what does and leaves puma tracks behind."

"What the hell are we dealing with Celia?" Dean barked, getting frustrated

"_Raptorpanthera gryphos_..." Celia said calmly, lifted the feather and holding it up for the light to flash off the glossy surface. "Hyperborean."

"Griffons!?!" Dean barked at the top of his lungs.

…

Celia stripped off her gloves and tossed them into her truck bed as she climbed into it.

"How does a predator that big go unnoticed in North America?" Sam asked in a harsh whisper.

"It's not like they go walztin' into the 'burbs, Sam." Celia muttered, she pulled out her keys and unlocked the tool box mounted across the bed of her truck. Both brothers peered over her shoulders expectantly. Neither had seen the inside of the tool box and both were curious.

Dean suspicions were right, it was her weapons chest. And it was clear that she was not only trained well she knew what she was doing.

Small and large firearms and a mish mash of Hunter necessities. A side by side full length shot gun rested next to the sister of the Winchester Featherweight Model 70 rifle Celia carried on her saddle. A .44 Magnum Desert Eagle handgun, a .45 Colt M1911, a nickel plated Berretta, an older Luger, a few Smith and Wesson firearms, three different Taurus semi-automatics, a sniper rifle and a few others Dean couldn't get a straight look at. There was an assortment of different knives of different metals, a few had runes inlayed in the blades. Ammunitions of all different calibers and makes were stacked in boxes or in filled clips. Dean recognized silver, consecrated iron rounds, dum dums, brass and the same make of shot gun salt rounds that the brothers used in addition to standard hunting ammunition. A small container of gasoline, a bag of rock salt, and a gallon of holy water and a first aid kit. It all seemed relatively standard until Celia found what she wanted, a leather hip holster for her Desert Eagle and stepped out of the way for the brothers to rummage around a little unhindered. She snorted something about boys and toys as she strapped the Desert Eagle safely into the holster then dropped it back into the tool box between the brothers.

Dean was impressed by the general stock, then the specifics that had been adapted to Celia's region. There were the makings of protective totems, amulets and Native American malas, Mojo bags, a small box of different bones, a cooler packed with ice and two large bottles of blood. An aged and falling apart grimorie, stacked in with a few other books and a missing gap where Sam supposed Nathaniel's journal went, the younger Winchester touched a spine of a leather bound book, pulled it out and found it to me the beginnings of Celia's own journal.

But Dean liked the six-shooters best.

Four antique Colt six-shooters were resting in their leather holsters and strapped into the underside of the tool box lid. Two were made of dark burnished metal with rich, dark colored wood and leather grips. The second pair was of polished silver metal with honey colored wood and leather grips. The Wounded Heart Ranch brand, the heart over the initials WHR was carved into the wood. He boldly drew one, sliding the chamber out, found it fully loaded and clicked the chamber back into place. Dean sighted down the gun, startled how comfortable the six shooter felt in his hand.

"Careful now, Dean. Those guns are Colt made. Older than most of the American West."

"Samuel Colt made these?" Sam asked somewhat sharply, getting a look from both Dean and Celia.

"He did, for the Greer brothers. Colt wasn't a local of Nevada but he was 'round lot, takin' silver from the Elko area got be friends with the Greers. He kind of had too."

The Winchester brother exchanged a glance.

"What do you mean, Celia?" Dean asked quietly.

"Most of the west was unsettled for the first hundred years of America's life, boys. The Greer brothers were immigrants and didn't feel like waitin' for the rest of the country. They hauled ass out here 'round 1815 or so and settled a ranch of near 'bout hundred thousand acres with their families, most of Elko county. Rangin' from the river and Blackriver Canyon all the way across the Owyhee Range. Called it 'Wounded Heart', started in on the cattle business 'til the silver started kickin' up, and founded Tuscarora on their property, made friends with the Owyhee, Sioux and other tribes in the area and all that stuff that normal settlers don't do. Colt showed up wantin' to mine out silver from Blackriver Canyon and made good with the brothers, after they gave up the silver he made 'em a pair of sixes, one for each brother."

"There where two brothers?" Sam asked.

"Three. Jessop, Elijah and Nathaniel, obviously family names. I've got Jessop's and Nathaniel's. Eli's got Elijah's, packed somewhere in an iron box. Heirlooms, Eli kept those and the others are mine 'til somethin' happens otherwise."

Dean slid the six-shooter back into its holster and stepped back from the tool box. Sam lingered a second longer before putting Celia's journal back and shut the lid.

"So what happened to the hundred thousand acres?" Sam asked.

"Got broken up, sold off or confiscated by the government. Still got seven thousand acres, but they're tryin' to take that from us, too. Eli's last true blood Greer, if he gets killed…we're in real trouble…" Celia looked distantly off towards the west. She gave a little shake of her head and cleared her throat. "This job is gonna be a bitch."

"It's one hell of a problem." Sam muttered.

"More than ya know. They're not doin' anythin' wrong. Just bein' predators."

Dean snorted loudly, "Celia they killed multiple animals-"

"Which they're feedin' on-"

"Some they didn't-"

"Animals don't understand restraint, Dean. Hell put a hungry collie in a stall with a bunch of lambs ya'll come back to a massacre. Its instinct to kill what ya can as fast as ya can. And when each member of yer pack is 'bout eight feet tall at the shoulder and burns energy like a hummin'bird they're gonna kill a lot and fast." Celia growled. "This whole time I just thought my wolves and puma had doubled…fuck! That's the reason Kaneonuskatwe moved so far north!"

"So the fires aren't connected to the animal mutilations." Sam muttered.

"I didn't say all that now. Grif-" She stopped, Mrs. Riker was walking towards them from off her porch. "Yes ma'am, can we help ya?"

"Just wonderin' what y'all think 'bout it…way them animals are torn apart." Mrs. Riker said, looking up and between them, the brothers and Celia still standing in the truck bed.

"Well we're figurin' those animals got caught up in the fire, sad as it is, and just been feedin' the birds." Celia said calmly, Dean tried to hide a sarcastic smile at the thought.

"The BLM gonna do anythin' 'bout it? The smell is startin' to spook my animals."

"We'll send a clean up right away ma'am. They'll be in early tomorrow. Ya have my number if ya get any kind of problem." Celia said, tugging her hat once in respect and motioned the brothers to start moving. They dropped out of the truck, thanked and said good bye to the ranch mother and climbed into the truck cab, pulling out of the drive and onto Copperhead Road swiftly falling back into discussion. Celia slid the feather into the band of her Stetson.

"You've gotta admit Celia, it's hard to swallow the griffon thing; big stuff like that, manticores, thunderbirds, mermaids, sea monsters. People don't miss that kind of thing, they don't exist." Dean argued.

"Sure as hell they do. Every one ya just mentioned, just not as common spirits and virus made critters like leeches and wolves."

"Red, Dean's right on this one-"

"Sammy, I know ya and Dean and John have roved all over hell and back but have ya been to it all?"

Sam heaved a sigh and shook his head.

"As much as America is shrinkin', the _world_ is shrinkin' there are still places men cain't go, places that are savage, they're fewer and gettin' far between but still around enough for 'em to survive."

Dean shook his head.

"I'll happily take up to this ranch I know in Washington and give ya first hand experience with a stud unicorn that's got a foul temper after we deal the pride."

Dean shook his head and snorted, muttering under his breath.

"We don't know the first thing about griffons, Red." Sam said quietly.

"They're an alien species from over in eastern Europe and North Africa, mostly the mountains out there. Some way or another, either back across the land bridge or dragged over in some roaming exhibit they got into North Africa, started breedin' and adaptin' to the terrain. Evolution, they're smaller, light weight and fly like friggin' turkeys."

"Fly?" Dean's head snapped around hard, making him wince and rub the back of his neck. "These things fly?"

"Not real 'flight' _per se_, more like they can't really get and stay into the air. If they need to they can haul their asses over a highway or a truck, not much more than that. It's an eight foot wing span, not nearly enough. Read somewhere the big bastards over the water are 'bout ten feet tall, twelve feet long and have a seventeen foot span. What we're looking at its 'bout the size of a big Quarter Horse, six foot at the shoulder. Hind quarters are puma, that's why they leave puma prints, except bigger. Just gives the idea of a big lion, and 'cause pumas always step in their own prints, no one thinks otherwise lookin' at 'em. Got a puma stride. Fore quarters do look like a red tailed hawk or a golden eagle if ya mutted it up with a bobcat, got a sloped profile." Celia made a motioned with her hand in front of her face, "They got a beak but it's like a turtle, best way I can put it. That's why those tool marks were angular on the bones. Fore paws kind of like a talon and kind of like a paw, they've got a hell of a grip. They're heavy, smart and fast. Put up a hell of a fight, especially a momma and her cubs. And it's true, griffons will take a horse over any and all prey otherwise….what else…"

"Do they normally travel in packs?" Sam asked, taking mental notes.

"Prides. No, they don't. Solitary males, maybe a pair of females, not prides. But it ain't unheard of, pressured times makes bonds. It must be easier for them to take."

"'Take'?" Sam asked.

"Hunt."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Alright, say it really is a pack of griffons-"

"Pride. Pride of griffons." Celia corrected.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her for a second. "Then they're animals, they can be killed and disposed of. Might need a higher caliber than .45 though."

"We can't just shoot 'em, Dean." Celia sighed, flicking her eyes to him.

Dean shook his head, this was becoming difficult. "Why not?"

"Again, they're not doin' anythin' wrong. They're _animals_ and as far as we can tell not man eaters, just…goddamnit I wish they'd picked a better territory…way they're eatin' and roamin' I figure they've got cubs too, damnit! DAMNIT!" She pounded her fist against the steering wheel.

There was a lingering silence for a few minuets.

"This sucks." Celia muttered. Dean couldn't help the small smile that drifted across his face.

"It sounds like you've handled something like this before." Sam mentioned interest clearly in his voice.

She heaved a deep sigh, "First Hunt I took on my own was a griffon. Rouge, man killer, big male. Eli…" She smirked a little, "…babied me the whole way, kept tryin' to hold my hand. And ya…" She looked at Dean and trailed off.

Dean cocked his eyebrow up. "I what?"

She didn't speak.

"Celia?"

"Ya two teased me like all hell. Said a bunch of sexist stuff. 'Til I came back with that pelt. Y'all's jaws were on the floor." She shook her head a little, smiling, "Still got that pelt somewhere."

"How old were you?" Dean asked, relaxing with her speaking casually.

She shook her head and shrugged, "Thirteen. Fourteen, somethin' like that."

"Dad didn't let me Hunt at all until sixteen!" Dena barked, his green eyes flashing a little more than normal. Celia smiled, looking dead a head as she navigated on the highways. Not speaking. Dean's smile slipped from his face.

"So what the hell do we do? Wait it out?"

Celia heaved a deep sigh. "I can't lose another pony." She shook her head. "And I sure as hell don't want to dump the problem on some other county or herd." She lifted one hand off the steering wheel, braced her elbow up on the edge of the door and the window, she dropped her head to rest her temple against he palm and sighed, watching the road from that angle.

Dean twisted and cast a look back at his brother then turned to look back at Celia. She really was a good person if she was so distraught over taking the easy way to solve her problem.

"I mean if they just balanced themselves out with deer!" She snapped suddenly, racking her brain for some solution. "Gotta move 'em but where the hell do ya move a pride of griffons?"

"Colorado."

Celia and Dean both twisted around and looked at Sam. The younger Winchester brushed his mop of chocolate hair out of his eyes.

"Say again?" Celia asked.

"Colorado. The Rockies, remote, ancestral habitat, big prey, no horses and far away from here. If you're really so concerned about moving them alive, trank and dump 'em in Colorado."

Dean and Celia glanced at each other. Sam's hearted started to fall at their silence. It had seemed like a good idea to him.

"I knew I didn't shoot ya for a reason." Celia said suddenly, Dean snorted loudly, trying to stifle a laugh. Sam smiled in return, his chest puffing in pride.

"Seriously?"

"It's not the best plan in the world, but it's all we've got. Goin' to take a helluva a lot of tranquilizer and a big stock trailer."

"You've got that?" Dean asked.

"No, but I can get it." Celia sighed, her hands fidgeting on the steering wheel. It was clear that once a plan started to forming and the more defined it got the more she wanted to put it into action. "A gallon of _Acetylpromazine maleate_…hell, make it three…"

"What's Acet-"

"Potent horse tranquilizer." Celia said, knowing that Dean would butcher the name of the drug. "_Acepromazine_ is a more common name…double dose each shot, so that's about…twenty seven milligrams…that's a big cartridge. If ya boys are goin'; I got two trank guns ready to go, two need to be rebuilt…ones jammed somehow. I'll be up all night…" Celia shook her head.

"Wait a second, now you _want_ us to stay on the job?" Dean asked with a half hidden smirk.

Celia sighed heavily, bit her lower lip. "I'd really…really like havin' someone I can trust at my back."

Dean smiled and Sam perked up excitedly.

"Ask and ye shall receive, Celia." Dean chimed, winking at her.

"How are we going to do this? Horseback?"

"Sammy, these things _eat_ horses." Dean rolled his eyes heavenward.

"I would rather not put my animals in danger but unless we can figure where the den is before headin' out, ridin's the only way we're goin' to be able to track 'em." Celia sighed, shifting and looking uncomfortable in driver's seat.

"Let me try something when we get back before you make a decision." Sam asked, the wheels of his mind already cranking on over drive.

"Fair enough. It'll take me twenty four hours to get things together anyway. Let's just hope the pride's got it's fill for now and the storms hold off."

"How do you explain the fires?" Dean asked.

Celia's eyes flicked around the scenery outside of the windshield before she reached forward and clicked the radio on, turning to a country station.

"Celia-"

"I cain't yet." Celia growled.

…

"Eli punches me in the gut _every time_ he sees me?" Dean asked.

"No, just the first time he sees ya in the day. Either that or he catches ya sleepin' he flips the mattress with ya on it."

"……_why?!_"

"Dean. He's an over protective Spec Ops Marine that's been the 'man of the house' for over twenty years. And ya slept with his baby sister while she was still a minor and ya, at eighteen, weren't. I think ya get off easy with a punch hello."

Dean groaned softly, he could already feel the fist in his stomach. He'd taken punches from some pretty rough customers before. But 'angry Marine older brother' punches just didn't settle well with him. Plus he'd seen pictures of Elijah around the Greer home, according to a photo of Elijah standing next to one of the Greer family Belgian draft horses, the Marine was taller than Sam and wider in the chest and shoulders.

Dean continued to knead the bread dough on the counter top, snagging a little extra flour out of the paper sack and dusted the marble and dough as it had begun to stick.

"Imogene wants-?"

"'Genie wants to be a firefighter." Dean said, quick to use the nickname as the quiz continued. "But she'd be a better lawyer."

"And Rosa?"

"Just wants me to put on weight." Dean nodded his head without looking to where Celia was stirring the thick contents of a pot that was going to be poured into the pies. Dean took a chef's knife, sliced the dough into quarters and started to pound one out in a thin, roughly circle shape.

"At which ya oblige 'cause of her cookin'." Celia smirked a little. "Ya always walk outta here with at least ten extra pounds on yer frame. More seein' as ya dropped so much weight since ya been sick. Oh, Dean-" Celia stopped moving and lifted her hands, catching his attention. "Dean do not tell her ya been sick. She won't let ya do _anythin'_. Ya'll be sittin' on yer ass suckin' down orange juice watchin' soap operas and Oprah reruns."

"But-"

"Seriously, Dean. Just don't do it." Celia said sternly. "And not a word 'bout our Hunt, either. Tell Sammy."

"So we don't tell her the important things. Got it." Dean said with a small smile, pulling a greased pie dish towards him and settling the thinned dough into the dish, gently patting it into place. When a smart remark didn't come back at him, Dena looked up, wondering if Celia had left the room.

She was watching him with some kind of intensity he'd never seen before. Dean stopped moving, his flour covered hands poised over the pie crust he was molding.

"Celia? What's wrong?" Dean asked cautiously.

She blinked looking startled out of her thoughts then grinned a little. She shook her head and shrugged, "Just…yer cute when yer domestic. All-" She waved her hands at him a little, "-makin' pies and shit."

A familiar smug look crossed Dean's face. "'Cute' huh? Maybe I'll mow you're lawn later."

Celia let out a soft laugh and returned to stirring the pie filling.

"Or do your laundry…" Dean used a suggestive tone and quirked his eyebrows at Celia. He rolled her eyes heavenward.

"… better, how about I scrub your toilets?"

"Yer givin' me chills, Dean." She said, pulling the pie dish with the bottom crust and started to spoon the thick filling into the center while Dean pressed the second bottom crust into the second pie pan.

"Am I?" Dean pressed as much feigned innocence into his voice as possible. He grinned slyly at her, using a tongue to lick his teeth at the same time.

"Yer just bein' ornery 'cause yer hungry and ya got a Hunt comin'." Celia said, not sparing him a glance.

Dean shrugged, "Maybe….might be something else."

She ignored him and Dean pouted slightly at the lack of attention, pushing the second dish and pressed base crust. "What is that anyway?"

"Venison crawfish pie."

"Venison crawfish pie?" Dean asked, he caught the scent of the ground meat and spices.

"Ya'll love me later." Celia assured. "It's a family recipe."

"I'll try anything once." Dean said with a shrug and a smile and turned his attention to helping her, following example and instruction on how to finish off the filling and lay the crust and following specific instructions and trade secrets to make the pies better, including dusting it lightly with flour.

"That's too much." Celia reached over and pinched off the small pile of flour Dean had dropped onto the top of his pie. She flicked in his face. "Freak."

"_I'm_ the freak!" Dean barked, batting flour off his face. He reached into the sack and flicked some flour into Celia's face.

"Hey!" Celia barked. They stared at each other for a second, processing exactly what had just been set in motion and if it was possible to avoid it.

Nope.

Celia and Dean immediately got caught up in a vicious flour fight. White powder puffing in their faces and dusting their clothes, flying through the air and their laughter got the three dogs worked up. Alamo, Buckshot and Valentine spun in circles and danced around the scrapping Dean and Celia, barking excitedly. Sam leaned his head around the corner to look in on the noise and chaos. He blinked for a second then ducked back out, deciding it was better to leave them alone.

The clouds of flour left boot prints on the stone tile floor. Celia and Dean were practically screaming, lost in childish play.

Until Dean snagged the spray nozzle from the sink and cranked on the water. Screaming at him to stop Celia got severely soaked trying to rip it from his hands, or at least twist it around on him. Celia finally closed the distance and it became a close quarters struggle for one to wrestle the spray nozzle from the other, both soaking wet and starting to slip on the slick floor.

"CELIA!"

Dean and the red head froze, jerking their heads around towards the door.

"Momma." Celia choked out, looking shocked.

"Winchester."

"Eli." Dean swallowed thickly.

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**That stuff about the Greers and the ranch in Elko county is bullshit that I made up for the benefit of my fiction, don't go looking in history books for it. Much Love Read and Review Please**


	31. Be Honest

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

…

**Chapter Thirty-One: Be Honest**

"**Honesty is the only way with anyone, then you'll be so close as to be living inside each other's skins…"**

**-Lois McMaster Bujold**

…

Celia swiftly shoved Dean away from her and took a step forward.

Rosa Greer immediately lifted her hands to stop her in her tracks. Rosa's eyes flicked to Dean before rushing back to Celia. The red head shifted nervously from foot to foot.

Rosa Greer was a slightly over weight motherly type of the Native American breed. She was a full blood Cree Indian, copper skin starting to crinkle and fold around her eyes and lips, her ebony hair tied back into a long, traditional braid interwoven with a string of small beads. Her eyes were warm chocolate pools, her hands small and gentle. She stepped forward and slowly circled first Celia then Dean himself. The elder Winchester rushing to try and hide the evidence of his water-flour fight by tossing the still dripping spray nozzle into the sink and shutting the water off. She watched the move with a stern eye before stepping around standing back at her place by the door, she moved in a way that Dean could only associate with the way he remembered Mary moving.

She was dressed in sleek dark blue jeans, a button down blouse and a pretty tan jacket. Everything hugged her curves in just the right way and while she looked pretty it was clear that she was as authoritative and imposing as John Winchester ever could have been. Even with every adult in the room, including Celia's petite five foot six, taller than her.

Rosa Greer had a classic beauty and almost terrifying presence that didn't match up with the two pregnancies and being a life long ranch mother.

The other two at Rosa's back was a pretty eleven year old girl, with the same ebony hair and dark chocolate eyes as Rosa. The girl's current slender shape promised to grow into the same swayed shape as her mother in later years but for the moment still had the innocence of childhood. She was dressed in a pretty, red and white sundress and kept looking almost desperately at Dean, shifting around in place. Dean had the distinct feeling that as soon as she got the chance Imogene Greer would full body tackle him though she looked broken hearted at the moment.

Imogene was holding tightly to the massive, calloused hand of her half brother. Skin tanned to a tawny color, raven hair cropped short in a growing military cut, his face lined with a few ancient scars and a newer one across his temple from his first tour in Afghanistan. His jaw was a little softer than his father's had been. Elijah's shoulders were as wide as Dean's and taller than Sam by a few inches. His chest was a massive, muscular barrel under the thin fabric of a tee shirt. His jeans dark washed hugged wide hips and he was wearing his standard issue boots.

Elijah Greer lifted a hand and rubbed it through his short hair, the other still in Imogene's grip. His shirt sleeves riding up enough for Dean to see the tattoo of the Marine emblem, his company number and the words _non timebo mala, simper fi_.

Celia cautiously lifted her arms up, as if tentatively expecting a hug. Rosa's eyes narrowed.

"Yer filthy." Rosa growled, "And my kitchen is a mess."

Celia's hands dropped back to her sides. Dean felt himself bristle; he knew that Rosa was just acting like a mother did but it rubbed him the wrong way. There was a mischievous spark in the mother's eyes, but it was swiftly becoming instinct that he needed to stand his ground and protect Celia the same way that he did Sam.

"Why?" Rosa asked with a small, growl.

Celia twitched nervously, shifting her weight.

"I was just-"

"The truth, Red." Rosa said calmly.

Celia swallowed and chewed her lower lip.

"Pie."

The room turned to look at him and Dean swallowed.

"She was showing me the right way and…I…started… I threw it…" Dean trailed off as Rosa's calm eyes locked on him and started to burrow inwards.

"Did I ask ya to speak, Dean Winchester?"

Dean chewed his lower lip and started to shift nervously himself. His lack of experience when it came to mothers left him unprepared to the intensity of Rosa's attention.

"No…no, ma'am." Dean muttered out, nervously wiping his hands on the hips of his jeans, unsure if he succeeded in spreading more wet flour onto his jeans or scraping it onto his hands.

Rosa nodded, her eyes roving over him for a second then back to Celia. The red head's eyes were cast down and her hands clasped behind her back.

"That true? What he said?"

Celia chewed her lower him.

"Ya aren't gonna get him into anymore trouble, he's already owned up." Rosa continued. The woman was slightly amused at the sheer amount of power she had over the adults standing scorned in front of her. But having the influence she had was hard earned from many years of good parenting.

"No ma'am, I started it." Celia said truthfully.

"But I escalated it; I could have let it go." Dean said sharply, almost startling himself with his honesty.

"Still coverin' for each other. Ya should learn that doin' this only gets ya both into more trouble." Rosa bit into the argument. Celia and Dean both shifted on their feet, unsure of themselves. The red head's eyes flicked to the green orbs trying to watch her out of the corner.

"Sorry Dean." Celia whispered sideways at him.

"'S okay." Dean whispered back.

"It's what happened ma'am." Celia said louder. "Was makin' dinner and we had a bit of a scuffle. Good fun." The last was attempted lamely, as if looking for some kind of penance.

Rosa surveyed them both for a few seconds longer.

"Alright." She said, Dean felt Celia relax and found him following suit. Celia moved to step forward again and Rosa lifted her hand, again stopping the red head in her tracks.

"After ya get cleaned up." Rosa growled.

Celia shifted, unsure then spoke cautiously.

"Momma, 'bout Uncle Kurt-"

"Later." Any warmth that had been in the mother's voice died. It made Dean's stomach drop out a little.

"Momma-"

"I'm worryin' 'bout it now, Celia. Let it be." The finality of the woman's voice was somewhat terrifying. She started out of the room. Celia's head dropped slightly. Dean couldn't tell if it was in respect, shame, or mourning.

"Yes ma'am. In 'bout an hour and a half."

Rosa nodded and started around the corner but jumped a step back and stared up in the soft eyes of Sam Winchester.

Sam blinked down at her and managed a weak smile.

"My God." Rosa's hands flew to cover her mouth. "Sam?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sam returned, having over heard most of Celia quizzing Dean and the conversation that had just taken place and knew best to stick with the title.

"Jesus, yer a tall colt!" Rosa seemed on the edge of tears looking up at the younger Winchester. "I haven't seen ya in a coon's age!"

Sam bent to allow Rosa's grip to wrap securely around his neck and shoulders. Sam enjoyed the hug, allowing Rosa to squeeze as tightly as she wanted before she stood back, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the tears collecting at the corners.

"C'mon…c'mon, yer gonna keep me and mine company while these two finish up." Rosa coaxed, steering Sam towards the den. "Imogene, c'mon now."

The twelve year old made a side step and hugged Dean briefly.

"Hi Uncle Dean." She said softly, an almost docile way that Dean hadn't expected, burying her face into his stomach for a second. Dean heard her sniff once and he couldn't help himself. The elder Winchester wrapped one arm tightly around her shoulders, hugging the child closer. His other hand came around to carefully ruffle her hair, the movements assuring and gentle, until Imogene pulled away, rubbed the back of her fist across her raw nose and stepped over to Rosa and Sam. The latter smiled at her comfortingly, already trying to engage her in conversation. Imogene, who had no recent memory of Sam Winchester at all, took his hand, Sam's massive grip practically swallowing her small hand. Imogene clung tightly to him and allowed herself to be lead out of the room while Rosa coaxed Sam into conversation.

Celia and Dean pulled their eyes away from the retreating trio towards the last one at the door.

Dean didn't even have time for his eyes to widen as the fist connected with his stomach and slammed deeper than any punch the Winchester had ever taken before.

"God!" Celia yelped, jumping and her hands flying to cover her mouth in shock and staring wide eyed at them. Elijah straightened himself calmly, giving his hand a little shake as if the hard hit had only been a discomfort.

Dean gasped wetly and gagged, heaving desperately to get air that just didn't want to flow into his lungs. He was doubled over so far his tall frame was practically folded in half. One hand gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles. He was shaking violently, coughing and choking. The elder Winchester couldn't breath, only was able to force air out; not in. His gasping broke down to a congested wheeze. Dean's knees were shaking so violently, it was clear he was sinking to the floor; simply unable to keep his feet with the force of the unexpected blow.

"Hey, Dean. Been a while. Ya look good." Elijah rumbled with a gentle smile, he lightly patted Dean's shivering shoulder and stepped passed the slowly collapsing brother to Celia. The Spec Ops Marine briefly hugged his adopted sister, pressing a kiss to her temple lightly before continuing his way out of the kitchen. Celia watched him walked out of the room until Dean choked and gagged loudly, a noise to close to vomiting for Celia's taste. She crossed to his side and eased him down gently to the floor, squatting on her heels next to him, Celia pushed back on Dean's shoulder, forcing him to sit back against the cabinets.

"Goddamnit, he's gotta quit this shit." Celia muttered, stretching to reach to the sink above them. She felt around, located a rough wash cloth. With some difficultly to make sure she wasn't more than a few inches from Dean, she flipped on the faucet and soaked the cloth. Ignoring the running water she set to work clearing Dean's face off. In a few swipes the congealed flour broke up and eventually stripped completely. Dean was surprised how much having his face cleaned up eased the pain in his abdomen and made it easier for him to breathe. His shivering subsided to a few twitches when he breathed in and his muscles tightened.

The elder Winchester leaned his head back heavily against the cabinets and tried to get control of his functions. Slowing his breathing down to be deeper and fill his lungs more. He forced the contracted muscles in his stomach to relax and calmed his thundering heart to a regular pace.

Celia reached up to the sink again, rinsing the wash cloth and squeezing it in her hand. Giving a little shake before returning it to Dean's face. Satisfied that she was done with it she moved to his hair, scrubbing out the flour and dirty water that clumped it together, as well as any gel Dean may have spiked it with earlier that day.

Dean relaxed even more, the pain fading rapidly with the feeling of Celia scrubbing his scalp. The sensation had Dean limply allowing her to control the weight and position of his head. There was a girl in Tampa that had continuously scratched his head. He didn't know if it was just her thing, liking to feel his hair, or if it was his reactions to the stimulation of the sensitive skin that egged her on. It hadn't been the best night of Dean's many conquests, but it most certainly was memorable simply by the sensation of nails scraping through his hair. He liked it.

And his hands, he liked it when someone toyed with hands.

He blinked his eyes open, flicking green orbs to Celia's distracted face as she continued to hand wash his hair. He watched her for a second before letting his eyes fall shut again.

In his time with her, Celia had practically zeroed in on both points, wither it was her intention or not, it seemed like she was always going straight for his hands and skull. And every time it seemed in comfort. Never anything sexual, not like in Tampa, not sprung on him.

He enjoyed it more now than he had in Tampa.

"How do you know all my pressure points?" He muttered softly, his head tilting towards her hand. Trying to eek as much of the sensation as possible. He heard her sigh heavily, giving herself a second before she spoke. Dean cursed himself for speaking when she stopped scrubbing his hair. He should have just shut up and let her do what she wanted.

"Dean, it may not be in yer memory but we go way back." Celia sighed quietly. The elder Winchester opened his eyes and looked at her, squatting on her heels and using the still damp cloth to wipe her own face. "And ya've been hurt a helluva lot. I made it my business to know what's got to be done to ease up the pain ya get into."

Dean cocked his head at her, the explanation was so reasonable it threw him for a loop. It was a foreign feeling to know that there was someone that knew him well enough, cared about his well being enough to learn what it was the cause his biochemistry to react in pleasure for the sole purpose of negating pain. No ulterior motive, no intention of exploiting the knowledge. There was even a flash of pain that he couldn't return the favor.

"Wow…" Dean sighed softly.

"Yeah well, someone's gotta take care of ya, right?" Celia finally pushed herself to her full height and tossed the cloth into the sink, shutting off the water. "Can ya stand?"

"Yeah…yeah 'm fine…God I think he went straight for my liver…" Dean allowed Celia to pull him up from under the arm pit. His boots sliding, almost scrambling to get purchase on the water and flour slicked floor.

"He would, it's the way he was trained-" Celia informed him, "-by Nathaniel and the government. I'm proud of ya." Celia made sure Dean was steady for before she pulled down a glass and filled it with water, turning it over to him.

"Why?" Dean rasped, accepting and taking a draw from the water.

"Ya didn't throw a punch back-"

Dean snorted irritably, "I'll be honest, I couldn't ."

"-doesn't mean ya wouldn't have. Trust me, Dean. If Eli hits ya just let it go." She shook her head a little, "He's a better fighter than any of us."

"If he hits like that…" Dean finished the glass of water and set it in the sink. "…like a fucking freight train…"

"Take a minuet, go change. I'll start." Celia motioned for him to head out of the kitchen. Dean hesitated a second before passing out of the room and heading towards the bathroom. He stopped over at the guestroom and snagged a pair of jeans and a blue tee shirt, finishing the process Celia had started in the kitchen. He took a miniature bath in the sink, stripping out of his clothes except for his boxers and dumped them into a hamper in the corner. He kicked off his flour streaked boots and left them next to the hamper, tugging at his white socks for a second before ignoring them. The elder Winchester scrubbed out his hair, washing his face, hands and arms fee of quickly caking flour. A fluffy, white towel patted his skin dry and ruffled his hair up into a mess he normally saw only after a hard nights sleep. Dean hesitated, looking himself over in the large mirror over the sink for a minute. His eyes roved over his own frame, studying the road map of scars long healed over. Each its own life, own memory, a few so old it was faded and broke in his mind. His story in his flesh.

As he studied his own story he found breaks, hiccups he hadn't noticed before, that he had no memory of.

He didn't recognize an irregular scar zig-zagging across the middle of his right bicep. It looked like something caused by a run in with barbed wire.

Tilting his head up he saw small flecks, patches of discolored scars following the curves lined from his jaw to his collar bone. Like at one point some large animal had tried to maul his throat, of which he knew for a fact he had never been bitten along the neck. Not even by a dog.

A bracelet of pearled scar tissue ringed left wrist, actually curling up his forearm a little bit before breaking off. The scar looked remarkably like the rope burn Celia had gotten taking down the homewrecker mare. A mark left over from a lasso.

The most frightening was a large, jagged scar running from halfway across his stomach, curving to his side and down, following the curve of his hip to just passed the band of his black boxers. The way the skin looked like a burn sent his mind flashing to the scar bent along the side of Celia's knee. A purposefully cauterized wound. It scared him how large the scar was, where it was on his body and how far along it ran down his side. It looked the like the remains of quick thinking over a normally fatal wound. He'd have to ask Sam if he recognized the scar, Dean had no memory of it and that fed into a slowly growing pool of anger and fear.

Dean sighed heavily and let his eyes drift back up to his face. Stopping on the way to study the necklaces looped around his throat. The bronze, horned charm Sam had given him when they were children, tied with a strand of leather he tried to never take off.

And the new charm, the carved bone otter totem. The "s" shaped curve of the totem, the stained red color next to his skin and the white of the second charm, the small tooth carved with a spiral around the surface. Dean lifted his fingers and gently toyed with the two charms, tracing the markings that shaped the otter.

He wished he remembered Celia actually giving him the charms.

Otter…what did "otter" mean?

Celia had that tattoo on her chest, the otter and the black crow with a red appaloosa pattern on its feathers…he needed to know what otter meant.

Dean heaved a sigh and pulled up his clean jeans, then the shirt over his head. Dean took the time to ruffle his hair, deciding that he wouldn't bother spiking it all over again. He stepped out of the bathroom, making no noise as he moved in his socks. He stepped into the kitchen and hesitated. A still filthy Celia was mopping the floor, she skipped the sweeping all together. The gooey mass on the floor wouldn't have allowed for it. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun at the back of her head, strands hanging in her face and she was sweating slightly. The flannel shirt hung unbuttoned, over the low cut white tank top, the flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her jeans. She'd traded up for bare feet when she started mopping. The counter top was clean, sink washed out and the pies no where in sight but a crisp smell of meat and spice was starting to fill the room. How long had he been in the bathroom?

Celia turned, her back facing him and Dean found himself trying to read Celia's own story through the fabric, her road map of scars, dominated by the devil's trap dyed and carved into her skin. He wondered if he was supposed to know all her stories, like he did Sam's, like he thought he knew his own. If she was supposed to be casual about his eyes on the carved tattoo. Was it hard for her to hide her story from him?

Celia turned again, dunking the mop head into a large bucket of soapy, clouding water. Dean's eyes roved to the tattoo on her chest, visible well above the neck line of the tank top. The appaloosa crow perched on the arched back of the river otter. Dean resisted the urge to lift his hand to touch the totem around his neck.

"You work fast."

Her head lifted at his voice.

"Ya take to long to powder yer nose." She returned, but the playful tone seemed forced, almost pained. It stopped Dean from retaliating.

Dean's brow knit in concern. He set a hand against the wall and used his free hand to strip off his socks and stepped bare foot onto the still damp stone tile of the kitchen. A glance under the table and he knew the dogs must have been sent outside for the time being.

"Here, I'm goin' to go change." She handed him the mop and started to exit the room.

"Celia."

She stopped and looked back at him, one hand braced across her fore head. She looked exhausted and Dean would have waited but he didn't know if he would get another chance.

"What's otter mean? What's it stand for?"

"Lots of things, Dean. Protection, change, spirituality-"

"No. What's it mean for me?"

She cocked her head at him slightly, as if wondering why he cared but not daring to keep the information from him.

"Ya were born January twenty fourth. Under otter, its yer birth animal."

"A zodiac. Native American zodiac." Dean said understanding. "And Sam's is a beaver."

Celia nodded and started to turn again.

"What's yours?"

She twisted again, looking back at him.

"Its crow, isn't it?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah. Then why'd ya ask?" Celia said with a small shake of her head.

"Then what's that mean?"

She followed the motion of his hand to the tribal, circular tattoo of the otter and appaloosa crow.

"Its you're only tattoo that I can tell. What's it mean?"

Celia's eyes seemed to be locked on the tribal design, like she'd forgotten that it existed. Her hand lifted up and traced the curves of the design.

"It's startin' to fade a little…better get it touched up, huh?" Her eyes flicked up to his, green locking with red for a second. She sighed heavily, letting it linger for a few seconds.

"Celia-" Dean prompted.

"When ya got somethin' solid that's always there…the one horse that ya always can bet on and he pulls through for ya, even if he stumbles he gets back up…when everythin' else can and does fall apart around him…ya do what ever ya think can keep him close…"

…

Dean kept a relatively steady stream of conversation without giving away the fact that he was pretty much faking his involvement with the family. In a bitter sweet way the Greers were subdued enough that any stretches between speaking went largely unnoticed and since it seemed that Sam had been out of the picture for longer than Dean had he was a good diversion of attention. At one point Elijah had called him out. Bluntly stating that Dean would be a little smarter to keeps his eyes on what he was eating instead of Celia, who he had spent most of the meal flicking his eyes to.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed, but the heat in his face was unmistakable and he tried valiantly to keep his eyes on his plate and found it virtually impossible. He couldn't help small glances her way, his mind spinning with her small speech about the tribal tattoo.

He didn't know what woke him up a few minutes after midnight. One minute he was in a spiral of dreamless sleep and the next he was sitting up on the edge of the mattress. He shivered, his skin chilled. How could it be cold in Nevada?

His skin itched; he could feel goose bumps rising on the surface of flesh. He lifted one hand to rub his hair and found it jerking. Dean felt around until his hand brushed across the seams of his jeans. The cold fabric was unpleasant sliding up his legs and over his boxers. Dean gave a slight shake of his head, hugging himself tightly to trap warmth into his core. He shivered a little bit but started to push the chill away. Dean tiredly followed his feet through the hall, up the stairs and down to Celia's door. The elder Winchester unconsciously rubbed his hands across his twitching biceps, trying to warm his skin.

Dean gingerly rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood. He knew she would hear the noise, he wondered if she could smell him standing outside her door, even in her sleep.

Gunpowder and lilacs. Damn, he was starting to associate it with himself.

Dean knocked again, waiting then he placed his palm flush on the wood and carefully pushed the door open; he leaned in a bit searching what he could see by the glow of the fish tank on her desk.

"Celia?" He asked softly, the elder Winchester waited for a few long seconds. He chewed the inside of his cheek and licked his lips.

"Ma'min?"

His head snapped around at a muffled clatter somewhere below him. Abandoning his excursion into her room Dean stalked silently back down the hall. Halting briefly to listen to the sounds of Elijah, Rosa, Imogene and Sam all sleeping behind closed doors, making sure the noise he'd heard had not been from them. Dean looked down the stairs from the top, tensing a little at the pale glow of light casting from within the kitchen. The elder Winchester slid silently down the steps and hesitating for a second slipped into the kitchen.

"Celia?"

She looked up, cocked an eyebrow and returned her eyes to her work. "Sorry if I woke ya, Dean."

"No." Dean shook his head, "I was up." He rubbed the heel of his palm across his eyes and sniffed, stepping across the cold stone tile and slipping into a chair next to where she stood.

The kitchen was lit by pale yellow light from over head. A small wireless radio sat on a cleared corner of the table humming away a late night country music station, comforting tunes humming out to fill the empty space.

His eyes flicked over the stained sheet spread across the top of the table and the assorted tools, a couple of open books, a fully assembled pair of tranquilizer rifles and the disassembled parts of another.

There was a small wooden box packed with straw and filled with empty glass darts. On the floor near Celia's feet was a five gallon plastic bucket, ice packed around a steel container marked with biohazard cautions and toxic warnings.

Dean's eyes flickered over the red head; her hair was tied back up in that nearly unattractive, loose bun. Her tee shirt replaced by a black tank top that hugged her frame, another flannel button down draped over her shoulders and a pair of printed pajama bottoms. Black, like the tank, with a pattern of the AC/DC logos all over in white and thick white socks. He couldn't help the small smile the flickered over his face and he tugged at his own AC/DC tee shirt. It was only band tee shirt he had and he slept in it to preserve the logo at all times.

Celia's eyes were roving over the small writing and the diagrams in deep concentration. Dean watched as she used a file to carefully sheer down the rough surface of a part of the broken down barrel. Hesitating to shake the sleeves up into place and out of her way.

"You need a book?" Dean asked. "I figured you would have been able to manage on your own."

Her eyes flicked to him. "For a trank gun. Everythin' on it's different than a rifle or pistol. And what does that mean?"

Dean shifted a little, deciding quickly to try and avoid treading too far onto a sensitive place. "Just figured you being a Hunter you'd know how to handle a gun."

"I do know how to handle a gun. Nathaniel, Eli and John all trained me since I was a pup. And what I couldn't learn from them I caught from the Hunters at the Bargest and-" She tapped the open page of the book, "-weapons manuals are always good. Same way ya and Sam learned, experience, practice and study…and I'm no Hunter."

"C'mon, Celia. That tool box, all the shit you know about the supernatural, The Bargest, Nathaniel, the demon possession…hell, griffons? I know you're a Hunter-"

"I'm not Dean."

"Celia-"

"Dean." Her eyes flicked up to look at him while she continued to carefully smooth out the inner barrel, she bowed her head and rubbed her sleeve up and out of the way "I'm no Hunter. The trade and I just don't fit. I do what I can 'round here but I'm not a road warrior." She pressed. "I'm just a rancher that's got a little more experience behind the barrel than others."

Dean shifted a little disgruntled. "Could have fooled me…" He grumped. Her eyes lifted from her work and locked on him again. She suddenly stopped moving and she set the barrel and file on the table top.

"Did ya want me to be?"

Dean didn't look at her, just kept his eyes down and his head whirling with the question and the answer.

"Dean?"

"Yeah…I did."

Celia cocked an eyebrow at him, nodding slightly in approval at his honesty and let it go. She returned to working on the tranquilizer rifle.

"Don't you want to know why?" Dean cast his eyes towards her. Celia shrugged casually, not really seeming to care. Dean pouted a little more.

"I wanted the company." Dean continued with the truth, trusting her more than he had anyone besides his baby brother for the last five years. He kept assuring himself by glancing at the otter and appaloosa crow tattoo on her skin.

"'S what I figured." She lifted her arm, letting the sleeve fall down towards her shoulder. She seemed unwilling to let go of the tools and parts of the tranquilizer rifle to fix her clothing properly. It was too clear to Dean that the flannel was giving her more trouble than it was worth. He wondered why she was still bothering to keep it on her frame if it was so much trouble.  
It struck him hard, she was hiding from him. She didn't know that he knew about the devil's trap on her back, she didn't know if she was going to be alone all night and had opted caution over comfort.

Dean puffed a little, "What do you mean?"

"Ya can only take so much of yer brother. Bein' a Hunter is a lonely life, Dean. We both know it. And ya bein' a social animal….well, like ya said, ya want the company….I'm afraid I'm not much of good company, tough. Ya'd be better to take up with someone else, especially now that ya have the chance."

Dean bristled, "Why?" He tried not to spit the word.

"It'd be easier in case ya had to put me down."

Dean froze, his mind shutting down. "What?"

"Hopefully not anytime soon but eventually I'm gonna need someone to put a bullet in my head. If I lose control of Shuka-Waken he's going to have to be stopped. Kill me then kill him."

Dean glared at her, a small bubbled of hate for the pure truth in her words. "You're full of shit."

Celia shrugged, jerking her arms again to right the sleeves and get the flannel out of the way again. "I'm bein' honest is all."

Dean seriously didn't want to continue with this subject. He saw the opening as she cursed quietly under her breath trying to shake the sleeve out of the way again and lunged for it.

"No you're not."

Her eyes lifted to him, a skeptical cock in her eyebrow.

"Take off the shirt."

Celia's eyebrows lifted sharply, she snorted a little, "Well that was far from the normal Dean Winchester charm-"

"I saw it Celia."

She stiffened, her muscles tightening and she kept her eyes locked on him.

"Last night. If you want to be so honest then stop hiding from me."

Her eyes dropped to the broken down gun strewn across the table. She seemed to be fighting herself for a second. Dean filled his chest to speak then halted his voice when Celia set the barrel and file down, and shrugged off the flannel and tossed it into the seat of an empty chair. She heaved out a shaky sigh, bracing her hands on the edge of the table and let her head hang.

Leaving Dean suddenly looking at the road map of scars that made up her own story. Dean had to admit that the design was some kind of cross between terrible and beautiful. And looking beyond it he saw countless other markings and discolorations between the dyed lines of the devil's trap, more scars than he could count. He wondered if he was supposed to know all her stories, like he did Sam's, like he thought he knew his own.

Celia's eyes were crushed shut; she was shivering slightly and refused to even tilt her head in his direction.

Shame. It was written all over her face and ran twitching down her shoulders and spine. She jumped, flinching violently when Dean's fingers lightly traced the curve of the outer ring of the devil's trap on her shoulder, feeling the rough edge relieved off the smooth surface of her skin. He let his hand drop back to the table top.

She needed some prodding but she was being honest with him…on this he could return the favor.

"When you were looking for us…me and Sam…when you _needed_ us I dragged Sam out to the graveyard…last night…" Dean rubbed a large hand across the back of his neck. "…he helped me summon Nathaniel's spirit."

He took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at her. It's what he expected and felt his own shame flush into his face. Her face twisted in something between horror and disgust.

"Ya did what?"

"Celia-" Dean lifted a hand to touch her. She jerked away, backing up a step.

"What the hell is wrong with ya?"

"Celia, I swear, I just wanted to find out who did that to you!"

"So ya go out and pull my father off the Red Road!?!"

"Celia, I needed to know who hurt you!" Dean barked, his voice swiftly rising.

"If ya wanted to know somethin' 'bout me ya should have asked _me_!"

"You won't talk to me!" Dean barked, jerking out of his chair and advancing on her.

"That's bull!"

"Dean? Red?"

The red head and elder Winchester whipped their heads around hard. Sam stood in the doorway, shifting his weight and his arms wrapped tightly around his own frame. The mussed hair and quiet sniff the young man made triggered both Dean and Celia's older sibling instincts. The argument instantly died, shoved back by the older brother and sister need to protect Sam from it.

"Nothing Sam." Dean assured quietly.

"Head on back to bed." Celia added.

"You guys sure?" Sam muttered quietly, it already looked like he was falling asleep on his feet.

"Yeah." Dean and Celia chorused.

The younger Winchester nodded, ruffling his hair the wrong way and turned to leave the room, stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "I think I found the griffon den."

The red head cast a look at Dean and got one in return. "That's great Sammy." She managed out.

"I'll show you tomorrow…don't fight anymore, please…" Sam shuffled out of sight. The pair stood silent, listening to his foot steps on the stairs, waiting until a door upstairs shut quietly.

Dean let out a heavy sigh, shifting his weight.

"Celia-"

"Help me with this." Celia said, stepping back to the table and turning the book so both she and Dean could easily read it. The elder Winchester hesitated then stepped up next to her and set to work oiling and cleaning parts of the tranquilizer gun, for an hour they worked in silent harmony until the actual problem that caused the rifle to jam was discovered and within a few minuets the tranquilizer gun was pieced back together and in working order.

"You're not really in control of it are you?"

"…not on my own…I need all the help I can get."

"What happens if the trap is broken? If you get a cut or something that breaks it…what happens?"

Celia sighed heavily as she delicately used a syringe attachment to draw the tranquilizer into the empty cartridges from the steel container, each packed with twenty seven milligrams of_ Acetylpromazine maleate_ before sealing them off and wiring the fletching of white feathers into place at the end of the dart.

"I got snagged by barbed wire when I was ten. Made a gap in the trap about half an inch wide…I just lost my mind, saw red, literally…it was like I was lookin' at myself actin' from the other side of a glass window and I couldn't do anythin' 'bout it….it talked to me the whole time, Shuka-Waken-" She gave a little shiver and didn't speak. Dean decided to gently prod the conversation on.

"What happened?"

"I killed a bunch of cattle, somebody's dog and ripped some fences up…"

Dean waited, knowing that she wanted to continue, but the shiver in her spine told Dean she was afraid to.

"Did you hurt anyone?"

She nodded, "Put couple of teenagers in the hospital…mauled 'em…would have been worse if John and Eli hadn't caught up with me and re-laid the ink. Soon as the circles' closed I get my body back…"

"My dad and Eli?"

Celia nodded and sighed heavily. She set another filled tranquilizer dart along with the growing cache in the wooden box. Dean watched, sitting next to her while she worked. He knew better than to try his hand at filling the darts. Celia had this kind of experience and he didn't want to interfere with that.

"I wish they'd killed me."

"Celia-"

"I'm not pitin' my life, Dean. I don't want to die." Celia cut him off before he could on a rant about valuing life and not deserving to die and she got to calling him a hypocrite. "Hell, I would _love_ to live to a ripe old age and get killed fallin' off a horse because of brittle bones. I just wish they'd done it then and save the sin from someone else."

_She means me…me and Sam…_

Dean just watched her, not bothering to push her anymore. Celia was pushing herself and it was the most he had heard her speak since he helped her skin the mule deer buck a few mornings earlier.

Celia sighed and ruffled her hair with a hand. "I'm in a lot of pain, Dean."

"Your knee?" Dean tensed to push himself up and to the refrigerator and get something for an ice pack.

"Not my knee, myself. Had tumors pop up in my brain and lungs…in my heart, even went through the chemo once. Had a couple of seizures in the last year or two. Couple years ago had a peptic ulcer that had me spittin' blood for a week. I get exhausted and out of breath, my winds broken, ya know? Every once and a while for no reason one or two of my teeth will fall out…it all breaks up and grows back, heals like I was never sick. Someone's not supposed to be tied to a monster like this for so long. It's like ya keep stuffin' a teddy bear without fixin' the stitches 'til the threads are breakin'…I'm fallin' apart here Dean and it hurts like hell…"

Dean watched her while she spoke, he felt oddly helpless, unable to help her.

Celia managed a bitter laugh. "If it weren't for all the pain I'd be a holy terror…no pun intended. I love my life Dean, the people in it and I'm scared shitless about dyin'…if someone else doesn't do it Shuka-Waken will. John, Eli…Nathaniel…all said I had an addiction to survival…they're right. Above it all I'd rather suffer than die…pitiful, huh?"

"Yeah. It is."

Celia nodded, Dean knew it was his honesty she wanted, not some sugar coat about it all being all right. She sighed heavily and pulled one of the empty darts towards her and proceeded to fill and seal it.

"My sights' goin', too."

Dean perked up a little, renewing his attention, not that it had ever wavered. He knew that Celia had bad vision out of her left side, but her total sight? Ranchers needed their sight…Hunters needed their sight.

"I'm gonna need glasses here in a few weeks...maybe a month. I just won't go get 'em…too stubborn or too afraid. It's like a nail in the coffin, ya know?" She looked at him pleadingly, hoping somewhere deep he would be able to understand.

Dean offered a small nod and Celia let out a breath, it slipped from her lips like an arrow being pulled out of a wound.

"How bad is you're vision? When did it start going bad?"

"Couple of months ago. Can't see too much out of my left at all, screws with my depth perception or whatever the hell it is…when I wake up in the mornin' it's fuzzy, takes a while to get adjusted again…don't know if it's from that last tumor or not. The headaches are a bitch but it's not a pressure thing so I figure it's not another tumor itself…I cain't take another CAT scan…" Dean watched as Celia suddenly spiraled into panic. She nearly dropped the tranquilizer cartridge she was trying to seal and lifted a hand to tangle it in her hair, her skin was starting to pale and a shiver ran up her spine. "I just cain't do it again. What if it is another one? If she finds out Rosa'll want me to go back for the chemo. I'm allergic to half those damn drugs and I can barely walk much less ride and do my chores-"

"Celia, calm down." Dean ordered, reaching out and gripping her wrist tightly. The action killed her panicked, mile a minute speech. He could feel her shivering under his hand.

"I'll go with you."

She looked distractedly at him, still trying to push down the sudden fear that had gripped her.

"Make sure you don't get a pair that makes you look like a librarian."

Celia smiled and let out a little laugh. Victory. Dean kept his hand in place, gently pulling until Celia was sitting the chair next to him. He'd gotten so used to her seeming like such a strong person seeing her suddenly fragile made his stomach turn unpleasantly.

"Want some coffee?"

"Whiskey."

He smiled and pushed himself up struggling a little at first but managed to pull together coffee with the stainless steel coffee maker on the counter top. He knew he probably made it thinner than Celia had but did his best, letting her relax and doing his best not to ask for any kind of help in finding things.

Dean set one steaming mug of coffee in front of Celia and kept one for himself. She seemed to relax even more, sipping the coffee until her shivering had subsided all together and the helplessness Dean felt faded. He looked over the three assembled tranquilizer rifles and the filled cartridges of _Acetylpromazine maleate_.

"Ya promise ya won't let me look like a librarian?"

"Not unless it's really funny."

"Yer a bastard…"

* * *

**Poor Celia, life sucks when your tied up with a demon. I figured that most people end up dead or really messed up after being possessed, so if you were tied up with one for an extremely long period of time I figured you end up with A LOT of persistent health problems. Much Love Read and Review Please**


	32. Change for Reset and Recharge

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!

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**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

…

**Chapter Thirty Two: A Change for Reset and Recharge**

"**Change is not evil…"**

**- Unknown**

…

Dean had never felt like a father. Even through all the years of practically raising Sam by himself and patching up their father when he needed it the feeling of being "father" had never registered.

Now he felt like a parent.

The night had been spent finishing working on the tranquilizer rifles and cartridges, relaying stories to each other about hospital stays and injuries. The elder Winchester listened intently as the red head relayed the medical horrors of her round of chemo therapy at the age of twelve for a cancerous tumor in her heart. Celia warned Dean that if he ever got electrocuted again she'd come in and finish the job of killing him. Dean couldn't believe the number of stitches it took to close up the injuries from the mountain lion attack at Blackriver Canyon. And Celia bristled at the relation of events that happened in the hospital after a semi plowed into the side of the Impala.

When all the tranquilizer darts were full and sleep seemed like an almost sickening thought the pair changed into work clothes and Dean helped Celia go about her chores a few hours earlier than she would have normally even gotten up out of bed. Dean felt some satisfaction feeding horses, emptying out and filling water troughs, filling the massive steel feeding rings with bale after bale of hay, mucking out stalls and rotating the straw and hay bales to prevent rot.

And he subtly lent himself to Celia as her eyes in the dim light. Picking out medications for livestock when Celia read them off or finding the specifically labeled grain in stacks of monotonous brown paper sacks of fifty pounds each. If she noticed she didn't let on but it seemed to comfort her, easing the tension she normally felt handling everything herself. It even got to a point where she would hesitate, lean towards him, hold something out and ask him what it said and thank him casually before going about the business that she was in the middle of. Dean felt a bubble of warmth curl up in his chest at the level of comfort Celia was expressing.

He didn't notice he was starting to build a little fantasy, imagining himself and Celia the only ones on Wounded Heart Ranch. Spending everyday like the morning had been. Dean almost forgot about the Greer family and Sam until the spell was broken walking in the ranch house and looking at the clock Celia's vocabulary pitched sharply into a steady stream of curses and chaos erupted.

Celia tore around the house, yanking members of her family out of bed, arguments pitched up for bathroom time. The Winchester brothers, normally very mellow and easy going in the early morning hours found themselves caught up in the explosive morning and rushing and yelling not only at each other but other members of the Greer family.

Sam struggled to braid Imogene's hair in the second floor bathroom, barrettes clenched in his teeth while Eli tried to brush his teeth and shaved around them. Dean nearly fell down the stairs trying to pull a clean shirt over his head after spending two minuets barking at Sam to take a shower because he smelled like a stall. Sam had a few clenched jaw returns about Dean being a hypocrite. Celia seemed to be yelling at everyone, breaking up fights and starting them at the same time. The din was doubled by dogs seeming to be barking constantly from all corners of the house. And while Rosa seemed calm and even withdrawn she made her presence know by smacking everyone on the back sides of their heads if she walked by at the same time they were screaming.

The manic rush of the whole family migrated at once from the upper level of the ranch home to the lower, rushing around the kitchen. Sam and Elijah helped Imogene with her "forgotten" homework over her shoulders. Sam booted up his laptop and set a folder of notes on the table, slapping his hand on top of it when Imogene tried to peek inside. Elijah was trying to collect his own paperwork after having been called in to the Elko county recruiting office to help deal with some sort of malfunction in the systems and they needed every available soldier to help with inventory and processed hard copy paperwork. Rosa was making herself up to go back to work in her general store as well as go about the sad business of making arrangements for her brother, speaking over the noise into the phone. Dean rushed with Celia to collect and make a heavy breakfast and coffees the agreed with everyone. Both throwing in their input when Sam and Elijah got into an argument over a few particular math problems. Everyone's patience was wearing thin, questions and answers were becoming snapped speech in seconds, arguments and whining became the main form of communication and everyone was beginning to act childish out of frustration and to close of quarters.

Now Dean felt like an over worked, over protective rancher father.

"Eli, can you drop me off at the library?" Sam asked, looking up over his laptop at the Marine and hesitating before taking a bite out of his egg and bacon sandwich.

"No."

Sam choked and whined, "Why not!"

"I gotta drive to the base, Sammy boy." Elijah snatched a coffee out of Dean's hands, making the elder Winchester bark in protest, and practically swallowed the whole cup "I don't have time to drop ya off at the high school."

"The high school?" Sam muttered, his voice muffled by egg and cheese.

"Momma is this one right?"

"'Genie, not now. Yes, Bill…as soon as possible…"

"Momma?"

"Here, let me look 'Genie." Celia snagged the paper from under the twelve year old and swiftly read it. "Its fine-"

"But I'm sure I made a mistake."

"Then do it again and don't ask for someone to do it for ya." Celia growled.

"Sam, hand me that creamer."

The younger Winchester handed his brother the requested carton, setting it into an open and waiting hand.

"Eli, I need to get to a library."

"I cain't help ya." Elijah snagged a piece of toast from Dean, biting into it, the elder Winchester snarled quietly but got himself another piece.

"Eli-"

"Sam, stop askin' me. I'm runnin' late as it is." Eli lifted his full hands, before dropping the folder and taking Dean's second piece of toast from him. Dean's eyes followed his stolen toast from Elijah's hands to the Marine's mouth.

"Hey Red, tell me what the hell that cremello is doin' in the ring with a bunch of stranger horses. And that paint in the other ring." Elijah looked pointedly at Celia's back.

"He stole 'em feral and got the blue mare in a family way. And that's a homewrecker mare. "

Elijah grunted and nodded.

"Now is it right, Red?"

"Ask yer Uncle Dean, baby."

"Uncle Dean? Number thirteen."

Dean held out his hand over Sam's shoulder and took the homework worksheet and started to look at the problem.

"Give me that, ya want the child to fail." Elijah growled, snatching the homework from Dean. The elder Winchester rolled his jaw, clenched his teeth and he swiftly stepped away instead of confronting Elijah and set to work making a burrito of egg, cheese, and mushrooms.

"Its fine, 'Genie. I'm gone." Elijah tossed his half sister the sheet and headed for the door, Sam half rose out of his seat.

"Eli-"

"Ask Red, she's takin' 'Genie to school." Elijah barked at the younger man and stopped next to Dean. The elder Winchester paused with the breakfast burrito halfway to his mouth. Dean heaved a sigh and held out the burrito to the elder Greer.

"Thanks, Dean." Elijah said with a smile, snagged the food out of Dean's hand, bit into it and trotted out the door. Dean sighed in annoyance and braced his hands on the counter letting his head fall between his arms and a frustrated growl thundered in his throat.

"Alright, this comin' Sunday. Ya boys'll join us if ya can?" Rosa asked, she looked pale and drawn, a little shaky as she set the handset into its cradle.

"Sure Rosa." Dean assured and his green eyes followed her towards the door and out to her jeep.

"'Genie, where ya goin'?"

"I forgot somethin'!" Imogene called back to her adopted sister and disappeared up the stairs.

Sam shifted nervously in his seat, the room suddenly deathly quiet, the noise that it had been filled with rung like a dying echo. Sam looked at where Celia was writing rapidly on a sheet of paper while flipping through the pages of an equine health encyclopedia.

"Red…could you-" Sam asked cautiously.

"Take the Impala, Sam." Celia said absently, turning her page.

"And have her sit in the high school parking lot for twelve hours while he geeks out, now way." Dean growled.

Sam slumped in his seat, he needed to so some fact checking now. "Celia what are you doing today? You could just drop me off and come get me later."

"I've got to go to the feed lot and up to the BLM offices and the Ranger station; it's an all day thing, Sammy. Won't be back in Tuscarora for at least eighteen hours and I'm leavin' in…"she glanced at the clock, "…five minutes."

"Do you need any help at all?" Dean asked.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind a hand. Saddle up Sam."

The brothers stopped, Dean's hand hovered over the set of keys on the counter that started Celia's truck. Both Winchester stared at her.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Get what ya think ya need and get in the truck." Celia repeated and turned several pages rapidly.

"You're taking me to the library?" Sam asked, already saving his work on the laptop and snapping it closed.

"No."

"You want us both to help?" Dean asked.

"No. One set of hands will be fine." Celia snapped the book shut, slipped the sheet of paper into her back pocket, shut off everything on the stove, made sure the dirty dishes were submerged in soapy water and finished off her own cup of coffee.

"You want me to go?" Sam asked. He was confused, didn't quiet understand. Last time he checked Celia was barely speaking to him, much less offering to spend eighteen hours with him in the confines of a truck cab.

Celia twisted and looked at him. "Yes. Please. Go start the truck." Celia swept the keys from under Dean's hand and tossed them to the younger brother. Sam scrambled to catch the keys, glanced almost apologetically at his brother and stuffing everything into his satchel, started for the door.

"Move it! Giddyup!" Celia swatted at him as Sam passed, the younger brother picked up his steps to a jog and trotted out of the house, across the veranda and to the truck.

"What am I supposed to do all day?" Dean asked.

"Dean yer in a fully furnished house, with all kinds of entertainment, books and movies, internet; no porn, mind ya there is a minor livin' in this house; ya got horses, cattle, dogs, goats. Plenty of food. Dean, go wild. Ya'll be fine." Celia heavily patted him on the shoulder, set her coffee down and snagged her Stetson hat off the counter and set it over her horns.

"Maybe I don't want to do that stuff."

Celia sighed rolled her eyes, stepped around him and slipped a ring off a hook in the mud room. A single, rounded silver key hung from it.

"Here, go out to the Grease Barn, next to the hand bunks on the other side of the west paddock. There's a radio out there, I'm sure ya'll keep busy. Lock the door behind ya." Celia pressed the key into his hand and slipped out of the door towards the running truck and Sam waiting in the passenger seat. Dean looked at the key then down at the collie and two German Shepherds sitting on their haunches and looking at him.

"Uncle Dean?"

Dean's head snapped up, Imogene stood in the door way of the kitchen.

"Oh damnit." Dean snapped. Before he could take his first step towards the twelve year old the screen door burst open again, Celia rushed passed him, snatched Imogene's homework and back pack, then grabbed the girl's hand and yanked her along to the door.

"Are we late yet?" Imogene asked. Celia only growled and shoved her sister out of the door and ignored Dean's sly smile.

He watched the Silverado roll out of the yard and found himself suddenly completely without human company. Dean shifted, a little uncomfortable and with nothing better to do went about his business clearing the dishes and actually getting something to eat from his hand to his stomach without Elijah in the room. He distractedly scrubbed the dishes and stood them to dry, putting uneaten food in the refrigerator before he grabbed the key on the ring Celia had handed him. He held the door open for the three dogs and shut the door tightly behind them. Walking across the yard he saw the front gate was latched shut. Dean walked west, looking for the Grease Barn. He had to pass through three different gates before he was standing on the furthest side of the Greer's land looking up at a large, simple barn nestled next to two small cabins and an ancient, crooked tree. The ranch hands bunks and the Grease Barn both were constructed the same way that the Wounded Heart main barn and ranch home were, a native stonework base that rose to hard wood construction up to the roof of hard shingles. The two bunks each had a small porch, led up to with steps, ringed with a low railing with an over hang roof. The area was deserted, weeds starting to grow up around the edges of the bunks and the barn, separating the gravel and hard pack in front of the massive chained doors. The barn looked appealing, the heavy chain and lock around the handles called to him, but he had the key to that lock.

He looked towards the bunks and started towards them, the dogs on Dean's heels the whole way. His eyes locked on the weather stained logs and stone bases.

"_There they are!"_

_Dean looked down, side stepping in his forward motion as a tousle haired boy rushed passed him, his chocolate colored locks hiding his eyes but not his smile, a striped tee shirt and worn jeans over child sized hiking boots. Sam couldn't have been more than five years old. _

_Dean twisted around, walking backwards to see who was behind him. _

_Seven year old Celia bounded after Sam, russet hair loose around her ears and the ram's horns in her head no more than nubs of bare growth. Dean couldn't help but smile at the tiny cowboy boots under her jeans._

_Dean's nine year old self walked with a little more dignity, he actually looked a little sullen but Dean could recognize the barely hidden excitement in his own green eyes. It finally was too much for the nine year old and he broke into a jog, following Celia and his baby brother. Following the trio of minors Nathaniel Greer and John Winchester chatted quietly with each other, the light, fatherly smiles on their faces made Dean's heart clench a little. The adult turned as his nine year old image trotted by following to look for to the bunks. _

_Years had stripped off the stone work and logs, the porches were suddenly clustered with items. The railing of both bunks was clustered with tack: saddles, blankets and bridles. Wood hewn chairs, cushioned with horse pads or woven blankets, sat on the porches, all of them full of weathered, experienced old cowboys._

_All of them had large, tanned hands, scarred faces and soft eyes, blue jeans, flannel shirts and bandannas around their throats. Voices rumbling with laughter and sipping thick black coffees. The working men smiled as Sam charged up the steps and flung himself into the lap of the oldest and widest shouldered man. _

"_Pepper!"_

"_Whoa there, Sam son." Pepper rumbled, lifting the five year old onto his knee and ruffled his hair. Celia close behind checked her pace to a more dignified walk. "Howdy Foreman Pepper."_

"_Hey there, Little Red." The foreman growled with a smile. "And my boy Dean."_

_The nine year old kept a grin from his face, green eyes trying not to dance. "Hey Foreman. Hi Dusty-"_

_The taller but much thinner man on the bunk porch smiled at Dean from behind his mustache. _

"_Mose. Garcia." Nine year old Dean continued, turning to face the other two cowboys stepping up from the other bunk. The two men grinned, looking so much alike except in height and waist size they could have passed for twins. _

"_Hey Dean-o." One growled, slapping the child heavily on the back. _

"_Dean, Garcia. Just Dean." The child growled. _

"_Sure, boy. Whatever ya say."_

"_Mr. Greer, Mr. Winchester."_

"_Hey Foreman." John returned with a small smile, though it seemed a bit strained. _

"_Pepper." Nathaniel rumbled back. _

_Dean continued walking towards the vision, a few steps behind the phantom of his father. _

"_Pepper, ya and the boys mind watchin' the kids. I wouldn't ask but Rosa's out and Eli's at school-"_

"_I could watch us." The nine year old growled. _

"_I don't need a babysitter." Seven year old Celia snorted. _

"_Sure ya don't." Nathaniel sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. _

"_Sure Mr. Greer. I'll keep an eye on 'em." Pepper returned, letting Sam steal a quick sip of his coffee. _

"_Than' ya, Pepper. John and I'll be back in a few hours."_

"_What sort of business ya takin' care of?" Pepper asked quietly. The air seemed to tense up and thicken. John's shoulders tightened up. _

"_Nothin' ya need to worry 'bout Pepper." Nathaniel said calmly. The adult Dean slipped passed the officer and his father, taking the steps and started across the porch towards the door. _

"_Pepper tell the story 'bout the paint horse." Sam chirped, oblivious in his youth to the stiffness he should have observed between the older people._

"_Sure, Sam. Fetch me my hat from inside."_

_Sam scrambled off Pepper's lap and rushed for the door. By instinct Dean reached out gripped the knob and turned to open the door for him. _

It was locked. Slightly surprised Dean looked down at his hand wrapped tightly around the knob of the door and then looked around the porch. It was barren, the apparition gone, leaving stained and dulled wood and the slightly smell of dampness behind. Dean shook his head, slipped a lock pick out of his pocket and in thirty seconds tripped the rusted lock and stepped indoors. The damp smell lingered a little in the room. The bunk was pretty much one large room, a small kitchenette and a living or dining area, a short hall had two doors, one an empty closet the other a bathroom with all the fixtures still bolted in. In the otherwise empty room stood a large bunk bed, stripped down to the frame only. It seemed so desolate it was depressing. Dean slipped back out of the bunk cabin and shut the door, locking it all over again. He didn't bother crossing to the other. He stepped off the porch, crossed to the Grease Barn and used the key to open the pad lock and slid the chain out of place. Dean heaved and pushed the door open, the dogs pushing passed his legs to get in. Dean grumbled and slipped in the gap he had made between the doors and used the little light to find the light switch and flipped it on.

His heart stopped dead in his chest and he nearly collapsed.

Celia was right for one thing, among everything else in the barn, there was a radio.

…

Sam shifted a little in the passenger seat and glanced sideways at Celia. She drummed her fingers lightly on the steering wheel and lip synced along with the music on the radio, bobbing her head and seemed more relaxed and open inside her truck than anywhere else in the world.

It was oddly too Dean like, but Sam steered towards noticing the differences between his brother and the red head rancher.

Imogene was safely dropped off at school and Celia was taking him about fifty miles away from Tuscarora to a feed lot.

"So what are we doing?" Sam managed, the first time he'd spoken in a little over half an hour.

"Goin' to the feed lot, goin' to the BLM offices and goin' to the Ranger station." Celia didn't glance at him, her eyes on the road, but she did reach over and turn the music down, something Dean rarely did unless the conversation was serious.

"What for?"

"Got to get some supplies for that heavy mare, get chewed out by my superior and let Charlie know 'bout the pack increase over the weekend."

"What's the 'heavy mare'? You keep saying it but-" Sam shrugged.

"Remember when we got back and Honeycatcher's stolen band was in the yard and I had ya boys help me pin that one mare so I could have a look at her?"

Sam nodded, "Then you screamed a lot at Honeycatcher."

"Yeah well, that's 'cause that mare's 'heavy'. Pregnant, and by the way her barrel was stretchin' I figure its 'Catcher's as she's 'bout as far along as he started takin' off. Cain't be sure unless do some blood tests or wait for the foal to drop, see if it comes out pale."

"So that's-?"

"Bad. We don't want domestics breeding with feral horses. Dangerous, dilutes the mustang breed. It's even worse as 'Catcher's an import, Brumby Aussie Stock horse from Austrailia and now 'cause there's a possibility that 'Catcher's the sire I got to take charge of that mare and in sequence the band and the foal. Especially if it's pale. Which sucks, things are tight enough as it is and the BLM is goin' to lay me out over it. That mare won't come to term 'til spring."

"So do you actually work for the BLM?"

Celia shook her head, "If we're goin' get technical I don't exist so I can't work for the BLM. But I do volunteer for 'em. So they get to chew me out a lot."

"You don't exist?"

"Not to the American government." Celia quirked a small smile and flicked her eyes towards Sam before looking forward again. "Figure its better that way. I'd rather be out here workin', not existin' than been in a lab somewhere gettin' shot up with drugs and experimented on and have a birth certificate on file."

"The government doesn't do that."

Celia snorted, "Sure they don't." She muttered sarcastically. "But I still have licenses for everythin' and pay my taxes, just do it all under my name through Rosa."

"Like a good citizen." Sam smiled, relaxing a little. He tensed suddenly. "Why am I going with you then?"

Celia cocked an eyebrow at him and twisted a little to look at him.

"Ya didn't want to go?"

"No." Sam said hurriedly, "It's just, you do everything with Dean. I though he'd go with you."

"Well ya thought wrong."

"Are you just trying to include me or something?"

"What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?" Celia growled almost a scoff of a noise

Sam puffed is chest and grit his teeth. "I don't think you like me."

Celia's head jerked around so fast that Sam was sure he heard her neck crack. "What!?!"

"You like Dean better than you like me and I'm fine with that. You don't have to drag me along to make be feel included. I'm fine with it." Sam growled, looking out the passenger side window.

"Goddamnit Sam." She snapped and swiftly pulled the truck over to the side of the road and shut the engine off. Silence enveloped the truck cab as Celia braced her elbows on the steering wheel and rested her forehead in her hands.

Sam stayed still his eyes locked on the empty highway on the other side of his window. But his eyes were really watching Celia's reflection in the glass. Sam tensed when her eyes looked at him.

"Sammy, I'm sorry if I seemed a little harsh on ya-"

"Its not that you're harsh on me." Sam snapped, clearly loosing his temper. "You just prefer Dean's company-"

"Will ya shut up?!"

Sam's mouth snapped shut and he stared at her in silence. Celia let out a harsh, even sickly sigh and shivered very slightly.

"Sammy…the reason Dean and I get on so well is because we've got…a long history. Even if it isn't in his memory…and it's an ugly, shattered and stitched back together more times than I can count, strained, painful, foul tempered, self-destructive history like the world has never seen. And god above do we fight."

Sam watched her take a long breath, drinking in everything she was saying.

"But it's always been an easy relationship. Dean and I just sort of dove tail, same way that ya two dove tail but ya know…different. And we've always been tight and…even though he doesn't remember, he does. At least his behavior is that way so I fall back on that. Always been comfortable with him, even if we were throwin' punches at each other…" She filled her chest again, swallowing dryly. "It ain't the same with ya."

Sam chewed his lower lip. "How do you mean?" He asked quietly.

Celia shut her eyes and hung her head, she blew air heavily out of her cheeks. "Ya don't remember but ya always were kind of the odd one out Sammy. Eli was older than all of us, Dean and I were attached at the hip when we weren't fightin' and ya were the baby. And I sure as hell ain't proud of it and last time he talked 'bout it neither was Dean…but we left ya behind sometimes."

Sam could see the physical toll it had on her to actually say the words. It hurt her, the memories that Sam couldn't find in his mind but haunted her.

And it was hard for Sam to speak, but he was already talking, his tone a little hurt before he could check his response. "You and Dean ditched me?"

"Sammy ya were so little, ya couldn't keep up." Celia looked at him pleadingly, practically begging him for forgivness. "I swear if we though ya were in _any_ kind of need for us we were there, no one we were more loyal to than ya but there was always someone keepin' an eye on ya. Nathaniel or Rosa or Eli. We didn't know any better, we were pups and we romped to rough and Dean….sometimes he needed to run and I went with him stride for stride-"

"Red."

She stopped speaking, looking at him.

"Quit making excuses. Like you said, you gus were kids and when you had the chance you acted like it, that's all right. What else could I expect of you guys? You were acting you age."

Celia nodded then gave her head a little shake. "Yer a goddamn saint Sammy, too forgivin'."

"And you didn't ditch me forever right?"

"Hell no. Once ya could lie and run ya were right there with us."

Sam nodded approvingly.

"Even had a few adventures on yer own. Ya always were independent, more so when ya got older. Strong from the start; willed and minded. Went yer own way and ya liked our company but didn't need it. And it was our job to keep ya safe, protect ya and I love ya with all my heart, Sam, wither ya except it or not, but it's never been easy between us…I just never bonded up with ya the same way I did yer brother…ya have no idea how much I regret that."

Sam shifted, suddenly uncomfortable where he was in his seat.

"So if I'm gonna be brutally honest, yeah. I'm a whole lot more comfortable with Dean. But that doesn't mean I like him better than ya. Hell if we added it up I probably like ya better than him."

Sam looked at her hopeful smile and shook his head.

"That was a pretty lame attempt."

She sighed and rubbed a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry for the way I've been actin'. 'S not right, just…it scares the hell out of me that yer cursed, like I am. I would have never wished it on ya."

"Yeah…" Sam sat back in the passenger seat and looked out the windshield, thinking about the nightmares and waking visions that attacked him so often.

"Sam I just wish there was some way I could…"

Sam turned his attention totally on her, his eyebrows lifted. She heaved a sigh and cranked the engine back to life.

"…That I could have kept the storm out of yer eyes."

Sam sat silently in the passenger seat as Celia pulled back onto the road and towards the last ten miles to the feed lot. Sam thought out her words, the cryptic metaphors that she used like everyday speech.

"I don't think anyone could have."

She sighed heavily under her breath. "Still would have liked the chance to try."

Sam scoffed a little under his breath.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, "What?"

"You sound like Dean and me these last few days before we saw…" He trailed off, killing his sentence and flicking his eyes nervously. Celia cocked her eye at him then nodded when realization hit her.

"Don't fret, Sam. Dean told me everythin'. I appreciate ya'll want to help me, but its best if ya just let it be."

Sam nodded, relaxing a little but not abandoning the search that Dena had sent him on. Sam would find some way to break the demon's hold on Celia.

"I'm sorry about coming after you."

Celia shook her head, "I've got a lot of makin' up to do for ya Sammy. Ya had every right after the way I treated ya these last few days. It's my fault for givin' ya the impression. It…it just scares me is all."

At the feed lot Sam met several extremely friendly old cowboy types, both working and picking up supplies. Sam noticed a sharp change in Celia's behavior now that he'd brought attention it. It was an almost subtle change, but Sam noticed it, especially when the grizzled old shop keep made a teasing comment about Sam's height and hair. She swiftly went into a rant about how "that mop hair and long spine supported one of the fastest brains 'round", at which Sam was goaded to prove by dispatching the feed lot checkers champion in a record breaking twelve and a half minuets. Celia's chest seemed so puffed with pride it didn't escape the eyes of the ranchers and someone called her a prairie hen. She didn't seem to care, just went about her business quietly bragging about Sam.

The younger Winchester tried to hide the small smile on his lips at the praise. He found himself working a little harder than he would have helping Celia toss special bales of straw and bedding into the truck bed, several large sacks of specifically mixed grains for pregnant mares and gingerly carried a whole box of medications in his hand, keeping it on his lap for the rest of the ride.

Sam was glad he'd brought his laptop along when they got to the Elko County BLM offices. The first hour was quiet, with nothing in the lobby to keep his attention but several different pamphlets about adopting wild burros and mustangs and about working for the BLM and a brunette young man's blue eyes watching from behind the desk. Sam gave him a warm smile, feeling more comfortable and relaxed in his skin that he had in a long time and continued to research discretely everything he could find on demonic possession, griffons and Samuel Colt's use of Nevada silver. He could feel the blue eyes flickering to him every now and then but never resting long enough to make him uncomfortable. He even excepted a Styrofoam cup of black coffee from the receptionist.

At least until somewhere in the back rooms of the offices exploded into wall and door muffled screaming. Sam tensed and while the brunette only perked his attention for a second and then returned to his files and computer work. The tension in Sam's shoulders continued to tighten until he couldn't stand sitting at his computer anymore.

"Is everything alright?" Sam asked the receptionist, his eyes locked on the hall and sets of doors Celia had disappeared down nearly an hour and a half ago. The sound of raised voices continued to rattle around the walls and drifted towards him.

The brunette looked up at him. "Probably not, but that's usually way it is when Red gets called in."

Sam looked between the slightly younger man and then down the hall again.

"Are you sure?"

"Sweetheart." Sam tensed a little at the way the brunette man said the pet name, his mind flickered back to the unwelcome way that Shakes' eyes had roamed over himself and Dean at the horseshow. But the calm, comforting softness in the blue eyes settled Sam's nerves. "Either ya don't know Red well enough or ya know her to well. Give it another couple of hours and I'll throw ya a signal to go in a separate 'em. Alright?"

Sam nodded and settled himself back on the lobby sofa, trying to ignore the sounds of violence from the back rooms until he shut down his laptop and nervously wrung his hands and bounced his knee, twitching nervously. The barks and shouts suddenly dulled into silence. Sam and the brunette locked eyes tensed sharply. Sam pushed himself up.

"Relax for just a second." The blue eyed man assured Sam but slowly pushed himself up out of his swivel chair as well.

Sam was far from relaxing but the way that the receptionist reacted similarly to him. But the two young men's tension to act went unneeded as Celia stepped out of a door and stalked down the hall. Her terse predatory walk, tightened shoulders and slightly flushed face read everything Sam needed to know. He didn't speak to her, rushing to the sofa and gathered his laptop and messenger bag back together and started after her.

"Hey!" Sam twisted to look over his shoulder. The brunette young man held up a folder towards him. Sam double backed, rushing to snag the folders he held out.

"Thanks." Sam said almost breathlessly.

"And this!" The brunette held out a folded slip of white paper. Sam snagged it, unfolding the paper as he rushed to follow Celia. On it was written in a simple script the name Isaac and a Nevada state area cod phone number.

"Call me!" Isaac called as Sam threw him a look and slipped out the door. The blue eyed brunette dropped heavily back onto his chair and sighed heavily.

Celia was all but inapproachable for nearly half an hour and Sam didn't try anything, just kept turning the number and name over and over in his hand before he folded it and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't know why he kept it, maybe just the press of flattery, even if it was from a male source, tickled his pride a little and he wanted the token. Even if he never actually dialed the number. Sam waited another few minutes his fingers roaming over the edges of the cardboard box of medications.

Then he carefully cleared his throat. "How'd it go?"

She shrugged a little. "'Bout the same it always does, ran 'bout two hours shorter than normal." Her voice sounded hoarse and cracked and Sam knew immediately that she had been screaming.

"Two…Celia you were in there for nearly four hours as it was!"

"I told ya this was an all day run. Most of it's usually me in there with the superiors and doin' paperwork. But I told 'em it was under control."

Sam eyed her for a second. "What _did_ you tell them exactly?"

Celia blinked and flicked her eyes to him, "Sam. I've been 'round the horn since I was a pup."

Sam looked between her and the world outside the windshield.

"I told 'em I was handlin' it and there weren't a lot of words between us after that."

Sam nodded. "I did a little research while you were in there, nothing on griffons you didn't already tell us."

Celia nodded and flicked her eyes to the radio console.

"Ya hungry?"

Sam perked a little and looked at her, his eyes flicking to his watch, he was a little surprised to see that it was half passed three o'clock in the afternoon, the way time sudden caught up to him his stomach rumbled hungrily.

"I could eat."

"Good, 'cause I feel like shit and I really really use something fatty and dripping blood all over my plate."

Sam heard the waver in her voice, clearly borderline upset. He actually saw the faint beads of tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. Sam tensed up; clearly something had happened behind those doors that had really bitten deep in Celia. She took a shaky breath and lifted a hand to rub it across her eyes before hardening up all over again. She reached out and flicked on the radio, changing from what Sam supposed had been her favorite channel to a frequency packed with nothing but delta blues music.

Another similarity to Dean. When ever his elder brother was fighting something within he turned to music. The roughest of his problems were drowned in booming classical rock…and on those days that even smart remarks never made it passed the elder Winchester's lips the deep tones of the delta blues were the only things that seemed to penetrate the shadow.

If what she said about the unknown history between them was reality, he wondered if it was a trait that Dean had picked up from Celia or if Celia had picked it up from Dean.

"Sounds good." Sam said as assuringly as he possibly could.

She nodded, "I know a place an hour out from here."

At a four way stop, turned from the straight highway off onto a less traveled road, the world out side of the truck was all too much like what most of his life had been. The long stretch of American landscape all around him, the only difference was the driver and the ride.

…

Sam chuckled low in his throat. Celia grinned over her cup of coffee, waiting until Sam caught his breath again and settled. Taking a light drink out of his latte; Sam sighed heavily and toyed with his fork for a second.

"She could always make me laugh…got to a point where I wasn't comfortable unless I knew where she was, knew if she was safe. I don't know, maybe I was hunting without knowing I was. Maybe I never really gave it up."

"She sounds damn beautiful Sam." Celia gently pushed her plate of half eaten chocolate cake away. "I'm real sorry ya lost her. If I wanted ya to suffer I'd tell ya 'bout a Sioux medicine woman I know 'bout out in the Black Hills but that…ya wouldn't want that for Jessica and I wouldn't want ya to torture yerself.."

Sam sighed and nodded again, cutting off and scooping a forkful of apple pie into his mouth, chewing slowly. The pie and the cake had followed up two of the largest shredded brisket sandwiches and most generous plate of fried sweet potato wedges Sam had ever encountered. It was probably the one of the most unique meals Sam had participated in and it was exactly what Celia had wanted when she told the waitress she wanted her meat still breathing. Fatty and bloody as hell. Sam didn't mind having his cooked all the way through. And the apple pie and a few stolen bites of cake were a great way to top it all off.

"What about you?"

Celia shook her head a little.

"Red, I told you all about Jessica."

Celia sighed heavily, giving him the same look that Dean got when he gave it. "There was this…one guy and he wasn't the one of many, ya know but defiantly…_one_. Had this-" She lifted her hand and motioned along her neck, "-strong jaw and soft hands. And a Copenhagen smile that went on for miles. But ya know the same old story, Sammy. Little hometown girl falls deep for the rouge with eyes of fire and a heart of gold with nothin' to his name but the dirt stickin' to his shoes."

Sam nodded, watching as Celia's attention turned to look out of the window their table was pushed against, her red eyes reflecting the thickening gray clouds rolling over the Nevada landscape on the other side of the two lane highway.

"And it always ends like those stories, too. It's intense…wild and unbelievable for a heart beat's worth of time then he's gone. Somethin' on the wind callin' his name. One day he just wasn't there anymore…"

"He just ran off on you?" Sam bristled a little and she noticed. Celia gave the younger Winchester a reassuring pat on his clenched fist. The hand relaxed, snagged hers and held it tight for a second before letting go.

"Men like that…all they know is that all roads lead to other roads." She sighed heavily and took a long draw from her coffee mug, resting it between her hands and soaking in the warmth. "He just…he was a mustang Sammy, they don't truly tame. And I…only ever felt….like I got one ride." She sniffed loudly, she was shaking very faintly. "No pun intented."

Sam smiled gently, listening. She had listened for nearly an hour and a half on end as he went over the finest details of his euphoric year and a half with Jessica Moore.

"But ya just cain't fence that in, ya just got to let it go and pray that maybe it'll come back."

"You still care about this guy, don't you?"

Celia's red eyes flicked up to meet his curious but gentle chocolate ones.

"Kind of obvious, right. I never had someone take me for what I am before. He even doted on that goddamn monster. He used…he used to kiss my horns. The left one, on the scar the lion left. Like he was always sorry. That broke my heart more than him leavin'."

Celia's hand drifted up but found the Stetson hat pulled down around her ears hindering her from touching the crinkled texture of the horn beneath. Sam continued to watch her, simply drinking in everything she did and every move she made. Her words were lightly strumming his heart strings, already sore after a talking and remembering Jessica for so long.

"It ain't somethin' ya ever forget. Being treated like that. I mean how much would you have given to have Jessica accept the Hunter that went with 'Sam'?"

The question caught Sam off guard and he thought long for a moment.

"I don't know…I was always afraid she'd run from me. I never wanted to do anything that put her in danger." He scoffed bitterly. "See how that turned out."

"Ya've heard it a hundred times so I'm not goin' tell ya it ain't yer fault. Just like it ain't my fault my mustang ran on me. Just the way things happen."

"You ever see him again? Did he ever come back?" Sam asked, looking up at her through thick lashes. Celia's red eyes flickered down and she cleared her throat, pushing herself out of the booth and tugging on her fleece and suede barn coat, rooting out a small wad of money. She peeled off a few bills, set them on the table and motioned for Sam to move. The younger Winchester pushed himself up and pulled his jacket over his shoulders.

"Red."

"We're runnin' a little late, Sammy." Celia said, the gruff rumbled back in her voice and she tugged her Stetson down to shade her eyes, Sam followed silently on her heels the way out the door and back to the Silverado.

…

Sam avoided deep conversation as long as he could. It was well after leaving the Ranger station were a few days ago he, Dean and Celia had laid over waiting for the wolves to pass, before he ventured to try and talk to her again. The Rangers had all been as friendly as the old ranchers at the feed lot and were more than happy to include Sam in the small meeting they had while Celia relayed the sudden movement of Kaneonuskatwe and his pack northwards. The Ranger Chief and his deputies listened intently while Celia spoke then asked Sam to relay his own experience. Of course the story was cropped, cutting out a few choice details and everything Celia hadn't mentioned but his testimony seemed to be more than enough for the Rangers. Each of whom immediately set up barking the small things they had noticed that added up to more wolves. Sam smiled quietly at the way the group of four men and two women started snapping at each other about over looking paw tracks and carcasses.

The Ranger Chief ignored all of his officers and offered Celia and Sam coffee and food, both if which they declined but took the word of the Chief that he would call them with any and all updates and vice versa.

It was pushing eight at night, thirteen and a half hours in the truck. Sam had seen longer.

"Hey Red?"

"Yeah?"

Sam heaved a deep breath. "I don't talk about Jessica."

Celia quirked an eyebrow but didn't look at him.

"Okay?"

"Sure Sam." Celia said her voice was so calm and quiet Sam could clearly hear that she understood what he meant.

A silence hung between them for a few seconds.

"I don't talk 'bout the mustang."

Sam let out a breath and relaxed, the thin cords that were slowly weaving into their bond tightened and hardened.

"Okay." He relaxed and with it any tension that had been between them slipped away.

"So, last night ya came in and broke up a fight." Celia cleared her throat roughly, "Ya said ya figured where the den was."

"Oh, right. Um…I was studying the maps and looking for a pattern." Sam struggled for a second before he was able to extract his laptop and turn it on, resting it on his lap.

"Ya found one?"

"Yeah, but that was before I found out they were animals. So then the pattern didn't fit so I ran it against a program that biologists use to track lion pride movements and hunting habits."

"African lions?"

"I would have done it with wolves but griffons are anywhere near related."

"Alright, I get it so what it come up with?"

"About the same thing. It's a territorial effect, ended up showing hunting patterns. It was easy. All I needed to do was turn the kill locations into schematics and run 'em through the system and-" He looked up and noticed that Celia was giving him the same look Dean had when he was trying to care but was hoping for a simple answer. "Blackriver Canyon."

Celia's eyebrow jerked up. "The Canyon?"

"Every thing goes on around it but there's no actual kill sites within five miles from the canyon. Lions will travel for miles away from their litters to keep attention off of them. I even looked it up, mountain lions, bobcats, lynx, leopards, jaguars, all large feline predators with kittens are the same way. Griffons must behave the same way. I figure at least it's the best bet. I'm eighty five percent sure that the den is in Blackwater Canyon. "

"It doesn't do to much good for us."

"Why?"

"Only way down and back out of the canyon safely is on horse back." She shook her head, "Damn…eighty five percent?"

"Maybe eight seven."

Celia filled her chest completely then exhaled again. "Alright. We get back and saddle up to head out a few hours before day light. God it's goin' to take everythin' I got to dance out of Rosa's reach."

"Rosa? Why?"

"She…doesn't like Huntin'. At all." Celia said with some difficulty. "She'll kill us."

Sam nodded, not exactly understanding what it was like to have a parent that _didn't_ want you Hunting.

"Okay, low key. I get it."

"Then off to the land of the Broncos. I need to make a stop first."

Sam nodded in understanding. He sat passenger like he had most of his life while another hour and a half passed and the familiar lines of Tuscarora buildings. Celia maneuvered quietly through the less crowded streets up to the massive stable and neat ranch home that Sam had passed earlier; his eyes flickered to the carved wooden sign posted in the yards.

_Tuscarora Animal Clinic_

_Est. 1832_

A phone number was etched in under the shape of a prancing horse. Sam liked the look of the clinic. Two stories, a wrap around porch. Large glass windows and an attractive looking set of dog runs, round pens and small, fenced off pastures where bandaged and stitched up livestock were slowly grazing in circles. Celia parked next to a dark blue Doge Ram truck and dropped out of the cab with Sam on her heels. She trotted across the yard and lead Sam through the pushed open double doors of the stable.

"Doctor Strain?" Celia called loudly. Horses and other livestock behind the iron bars and wooden doors of the long rows of stalls lifted their heads and snorted loudly. Sam's height allowed him to peer into most of the stalls, at least the ones that weren't blocked off my green rubber privacy sheet. Some animals looked the height of health, others desperately thin and hooked up to all kinds of i.v. and nutrient feeds. Some were stitched up and bandaged but all looked rather happy.

"Doc Strain!"

"Yeah?!" Along the line of stalls a slightly balding head stuck out of a stall, eyebrows quirked up almost comically. He looked extremely friendly and bright eyed. Celia broke into jog up to him. Sam lingered back his eyes roving over horses and cattle, even a few llamas and one that made his step falter and stare as he walked extremely slowly passed a dromedary camel in a stall between two quarter horses.

The camel snorted loudly and rattled the blue halter around his head.

Sam didn't dare stick his hand between the bars but he had an irresistible urge to pet the animal. By the time he was at Celia's side again and quickly introduced to Doctor Steven Strain he was already commissioned to help haul three ten gallon plastic buckets, all tightly covered with screwed on lids. He was startled by the weight when he tried to haul one on his own and ended up having to work with Dr. Strain to just get it lifted and carried to Celia's truck. Celia herself easily hauled the other two in the time it took them to carry the one. Celia profoundly thanked Dr. Strain before asking to borrow the clinic's large stock trailer. The red side painted with the prancing horse and the clinic's name and phone number.

Sam endured the cropped jokes of the veterinarian and Celia promised several hours of volunteer service in return before she and Sam took the truck, left the trailer to be collected later and headed back to the Wounded Heart Ranch.

The last few minutes together were spent singing _Mary Jane's Last Dance_ at the top of their lungs and tone deaf as Hell.

"Dean?" Sam called loudly into the ranch home. No noise returned to meet him. "Dean!"

Celia stepped in next to him and whistled. The noise ear splitting and made Sam flinch horribly.

"Damn, Red." Sam muttered rubbing his ears.

"He's still out in the Grease Barn." She said with a sigh. "C'mon."

Celia lead Sam across the pastures and through the gates to the Grease Barn and the two bunk cabins. Sam's ears perked at the familiar tones of classic rock pouring out of the double doors.

Sam followed on Celia's heels and stopped dead just inside the doors. The barn was something of a stable. But had double wide stalls along one side of the barn, the floors were smooth, clean cement. Lights glowed brightly from the rafters. One whole side of the barns was a pure wall of tools, all hung on a steel ribbed backing above a two foot wide stainless steel counter top and cabinets below. Drawer after drawer in huge rolling tool boxes were pushed around awkwardly. Large car parts were scattered around, tagged and covered with plastic sheets, including a high performance stock car engine on a rolling cart. A small radio was sitting on the counter, booming out rock music. Sam looked around the room in mild awe.

It was packed with classic American cars all in different stages of repair.

A 1970 Ford Mach 1 Mustang stock car was parked in one of the double wide stalls. A light blue paint job polished to a shine and a pair of black racing stripes ran over the hood, roof and trunk of the car.

A Ford Thunderbird Coup convertible circa 1957 was up on blocks waiting for long over due rims and tires fore a final waxing and polish.

A 1966 Chevrolet Impala SS convertible needed sanding, a paint job and a never canvas top. A slightly rusty rear fender seemed to be the only piece of metal still sporting the original cream color of the pieced together automobile.

There was a 1971 Dodge Charger R/T that needed a new windshield and the front left fender was crumpled in for an ugly scar that was begging for repair.

One of the stalls was occupied by a 1968 Corvette Stingray that was in need of a second coat of paint.

There was a Dodge Viper in need of new fenders, a Chevrolet Chevelle that looked like it hadn't been touched since it was brought out of the junkyard. One of the stalls was sporting a car covered by a large sheet and Sam couldn't tell what it was beneath. And the last stall was occupied by a 1941 Ford F! pickup that needed to be totally rebuilt. There was a rebuilt steel frame waiting for the body in the far back of the barn and among the cars were two completely rebuilt Harley Davidson classic motorcycles.

It was a car enthusiast's sanctuary.

Sam's eyes followed to where Celia was standing next to a 1967 Ford Shelby Cobra was sitting with here hood up and open and several tools and stained drop cloths scattered around. The Cobra looked to be in good condition, sleek and complete, only missing a wax and polish and maybe a racing stripe on the deep green exterior. Sam stepped closer and noticed a few slices in the leather interior and the dashboard had been pulled out as it was being currently rewired.

Celia looked around at Sam then lifted a leg and set her boot firmly on the plastic surface of a roll board, directly between a pair of jean clad legs, the familiar work boots tapping to the sound pouring out of the radio.

Celia balanced herself and pulled, the jerk rolled the board right out from under the engine and Sam looked down into the slightly surprised face of his elder brother.

"Pack it up and say good bye Dean." Celia said, rubbing her nose and stepping away. Dean pushing himself up and dropping the wrench was holding, watching her walk away.

"Hey Dean, you alright?" Sam asked cautiously. Dean seemed to snap out of his trance and broke into a Cheshire grin.

"Sam!" Dean flung himself to his feet, rapidly wiping his hands off. "Sam! I LOVE Nathaniel Greer!"

"Dean?" Sam asked nervously.

"Dude check this place out! The man was a friggin' GOD! Look! Look did you see the KITT?" Dean motioned at the Cobra he'd been working on. "Been working on the engine all day, another couple of hours and she'll be race ready! I opened her up on the fuel injection a little, more miles faster to the gallon. Michael Knight never had her so good!"

"That's great Dean." Sam tried to sound enthusiastic, the child like excitement on his brother's face was enough to make him feel a little excited about the contents of the Grease Barn.

"And man check out this frame for a '68 Pontiac Firebird! He has most of the parts over there, I think it's supposed to be a convert. And that engine…yes! That is the Firebird engine, dude!"

Sam nodded, trying to draw up a picture of what a Firebird looked like.

"And over here, man, one of the greatest of 'em all!" Dean sprinted across the room to the stall where the car was covered y a sheet. Sam followed quickly on his heels. Dean yanked the sheet off with a flurry and stood back, his eyes flashing in pure bliss.

"What is it?" Sam asked quietly.

"Dude. Sam. It's a Ford X Code. _The Ford X Code Mustang!_ 1968 in perfect condition or completely restored. Sam…worship her, Sam."

The X Code Mustang was polished to was polished to a high gloss, pure ebony paint and shining silver chrome. Sam had to admit that the car had a big presence.

"Cool." Sam said carefully.

Dean scoffed, "'Cool'. Sam there are only _nine _of these babies in _existence_! They only _know_ where four of them are and I'll bet you a thousand dollars that they don't know about this one. High performance engine, classic black paint job, original rims and hubcaps. She has a full tank of gas and her key's in the ignition."

Dean looked ready to melt.

"Daddy found her in a junkyard in Iowa on a hunt. Said if he lived he'd go get her. The junk man didn't know shit 'bout what he had and took two hundred for her. Daddy had her ready and snared to go in about a year." Celia said from next to Dean. "Got to joy ride her a little before he passed away. John, too and took us a few times. Haven't touched her since."

Dean and Sam looked at the X Code with a little more reverence than before.

"Still like the Shelby better, though." Celia rattled a small crate she had piled Dean's used tools and drop rags. She sighed and reached out, snagging Dean's tee shirt sleeve and tugged until he followed reluctantly. Sam swiftly covered the X Code again and followed. The radio had been shut off, the box of tools dropped at the door and she shut off the lights.

"Celia-"

"Dean ya can come back later, we got to get to work."

"What?" Dean asked as the elder Winchester shut the doors and locked the chain back into place.

"We're Huntin'." Celia growled softly

* * *

**Much Love Read and Review Please**


	33. Daybreak

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE

* * *

**

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche**

…

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Daybreak**

"**Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up.****"**

**- Anne Lamott**

…

Dean and Sam Winchester had spent countless hours practicing and experiencing the best and right way to break in unnoticed and slip back out, like two over large, hundred and a quarter pound shadows. When Celia slipped silently into their rooms some number of hours before even the predawn light crept towards the horizon, they understood the urgency of complete silence; there was no surprise in it. What startled them most was the pure fact that Celia had actually roused them from their sleep. Both brothers were naturally light sleepers and being gently shaken awake was new for them.

Celia moved with an unnatural silence that seemed completely natural on her.

In complete silence the three worked together like one living entity, performing every task they had discussed doing earlier. Swept the tranquilizer guns into the tool box of the Silverado. The darts into a cooler packed with ice and tied down tightly into the bed next to the three plastic buckets. Silently pushed the neutral geared Impala out of the gate and to the side of the road, Sam and Dean slipping out their favorite hand guns and several clips each of standard ammunition. Three horses were soundlessly saddled and lead into the air ride trailer. They flinched as one when the much quieter but still to loud for their taste Silverado and Explorer revved to life, the air ride hitched to the Explorer and painfully slowly pulled out of the yard, leaving the gate ajar but only slightly. And nothing left behind but a scribbled note telling the first riser where they had gone.

Everything moved smoothly, dovetailing together perfectly. A single hesitation, spent with the brothers watching intently at her doorway as Celia went through the motions of the only pre-Hunt ritual she had. She extracted a small box carved out of bone from the bottom of the massive chest that sat at the foot of her bead. A glance over her shoulders and the brothers learned that the chest was packed full of specialty weapons for the hunt and among other things a rolled up skin that looked to be both mountain lion fur and eagle feathers. Celia kneeled back on her heels and opened the box, sitting on a thin cushion of velvet was a Saint Michael medallion of silver and a set of standard issue dog tags, a little tarnished and worn around the edges. Etched into the metal was Nathaniel Greer's name and information, just in case he'd been killed or maimed in Vietnam beyond recognition. The Winchesters waited patiently and reverently while Celia stripped off her silver crucifix and replaced it with her father's dog tags and Saint Michael. Without another word about it she led them out to the yard again, a harden flash in her eyes.

Dean maneuvered slowly behind the Explorer's wheel, Sam in the passenger seat, and they followed the Silverado as a silent crawl to the animal clinic where Sam swapped over to ride shotgun with Celia after she hitched up the clinic's red stock trailer.

The fear of being caught ebbed and the hot wire friction of the Hunt settled in.

Their skin was starting to itch and they continued in pure silence, unwilling to speak to one another until Celia took a sudden left turn off the paved highway road and thudded down into the hard packed earth, stone and under brush of the Nevada off road territory. The truck and SUV rattled and bounced across the uneven ground and rumbled in the otherwise silent dark. Head lights spooked and chased deer, wapiti and mustangs up from their resting places in what they thought was untouched earth and night.

A few meters and the uneven ground suddenly settled into a long forgotten dirt road; the truck and SUV charging up gunning across the hard pack, kicking up dust. Sam noticed that Celia was starting to show signs of duress. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her scarred and tawny knuckles were paler white than Sam's skin was naturally, her jaw was clenched hard, he couldn't hear her teeth grinding over the engine but Sam knew they were. A single bead of sweat trickled down her temple and jaw, sliding down to collect in the hollow of her collar bone. Her back was rigid and her blood colored eyes locked forward but Sam swore with every slight bump in the road a flicker of black pulsed up at the edges of her retinas but ebbed back again.

Sam's eyes fell to the dog tags and Saint Michael medallion around her throat, each tinkling softly when the truck jumped a little.

"Red are you okay?"

Sam saw the barest flinch of a jump, like she had forgotten he was there.

"No."

"What's the matter?" Sam coaxed, hoping to ease the tension in her that was beginning to unsettle him.

"I'm scared."

Sam blinked. "You're sc-"

"Yes, I'm scared." She snapped shortly. Then realizing who she was talking to she settled again, almost trying to be apologetic. "Griffons are the worst."

"How do you mean?" Sam asked.

"They're just…" She shook her head. "…think of the worst thing ya boys ever Hunted. Multiply it by like a hundred and fifty nine, then give it two thousand pounds to throw around, four sets of claws and a beak that can crunch through reinforced steel and out of control paternal pride hormones."

Sam blinked, trying to picture the monster, he swallowed the nervousness that came with the image, it settled in his stomach without consequence. It was just another creature. "Yeah?"

"Now go look it in the eye without yer brother."

Sam blinked slowly and thought.

"Now be honest."

"I'm scared."

"Good, that'll help keep ya alive."

Sam sat quietly, thinking about the knowledge he'd collected about griffons, unconsciously his hand tightened his grip around the Taurus fire arm in his lap. Celia eased the speed and pulled off the dirt track road a few yards, she brought the truck to a stop leaving the engine running and waited. Sam and Celia waited patiently, heard a clang of metal on metal and after ten minuets the quad door of the truck cab swung open and Dean climbed in.

"It's free."

Celia nodded, shut off the head lights and eased the truck back into motion, leaving the stock trailer, SUV and air ride behind. The Silverado rumbled grinding across open terrain for another half a mile. Before she killed the engine and allowed the truck's momentum to roll them to a stop. Once the truck was dead still the three each took a deep breath, the last easy one they would have for a while and silently opened their doors, slipping out to the earth and shutting their doors behind them.

Stretched out before them was the Nevada desert scrub, neither Sam or Dean were able to really judge the distance in the dark but they could see, some where near a head a jagged shadow of pure black zigzagged across the ground. No doubt in the brother's minds Blackriver Canyon.

Celia led the brothers around to the truck bed where with a slender flash light clenched between her teeth she showed them the right way to load a dart into the tranquilizer guns and cock them to fire. They only needed to be shown the motions once before they had filled all available chambers in the tranquilizer guns, which only happened to be three, and safely tucked several more darts into their pockets and slid their chosen hand guns into the waist bands of their jeans, clips into separate pockets than with the tranquilizer darts.

The three rifles were set carefully on the dropped tail gate and Celia swung down the three lidded buckets, each one taken by the brother's together and eased straight to the ground under the weight.

Celia dropped down next to them and in a smooth move unscrewed the lid from one of the buckets. Both Winchesters jerked back hands flying up to cover their mouths and noises as they were assaulted by the bitter, coppery scent drifting up from the dark liquid filling the ten gallon bucket to the brim.

"What is that?" Dean growled.

"Horse blood, courtesy of our vet." Celia muttered and rolled up her sleeves to her elbows. "C'mere Sam." She motioned him over, "Roll up yer sleeves."

The trust Sam had built with Celia over the day before he did exactly what she asked and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, a little higher even and stepped over.

"Hold 'em out."

Sam did so without question or hesitation and he tensed, watching as Celia dunked her hands into the bucket of horse blood well up to a point that it licked at the edges of her rolled up sleeves and moved her arms around a little.

"Goddamn Celia." Dean muttered and spit over his shoulder.

"Ya think it's bad?" She growled, "I can out scent a bloodhound." She pulled her arms up out of the bucket, her skin completely soaked in thick, slow moving blood and she twisted, wrapped her hands tightly around the crook of Sam's right elbow and smoothly slid her hands down the course of Sam's forearm, over his wrist and around his hand, all the way down leaving thick streaks of horse blood across Sam's skin. The younger Winchester twitched and shifted uncomfortably but stayed put. Celia redunked her hands and arms into the bucket and repeated the action again over Sam's right arm then twice over his left. He tried to avoid instinctively shaking off the blood, letting it congeal and start to dry and cake to his skin, making him itch. A final dip of her hands into the bucket and she brought a small pool of blood up in her hands to scrub into Sam's hair.

"C'mon Dean, yer turn." She waved Sam and away and motioned Dean over. The elder brother reluctantly rolled his sleeves up and stripped off his watch, ring and skull bead bracelet, tucking them securely into his pocket before holding his arms and hands out to receive the same treatment.

"Why are we doing this…" Dean whined softly.

"We smell too much like people. They'll shy off." Celia said and finished off massaging Dean's hands between hers with a layer of blood before letting him go. She dunked her hands into the blood, gathered a little pool and motioned for him to bend. Dean bent at the waist and ducked his head towards his chest, the position making sure the blood didn't trickle onto his clothes as Celia scrubbed it into his short hair. She patted him once on the back of his head and gave her hands a little shake, wiping her palms off on her jeans and leaving deep red streaks behind before lifted the bucket and walking slowly around the Silverado every few steps stopped to slosh a some blood onto the white paint until an irregular, dripping streak flowed all the way around the truck's frame.

"You sure?" Dean grumbled.

"Unless they're man killers." Celia said.

"If they are?" Sam asked.

"Then it doesn't matter." Dean muttered.

The three worked together to lift the other two buckets along with the half full third and carried out from the Silverado another several hundred yards before dumping all the blood out onto the ground. Now they were barely a quarter mile form the edge of the canyon drop off. The blood pooled out and swiftly started to soak into the earth, but not before both brothers and Celia herself gagged once at the smell. It seemed that the blood had set to long without ice. Of course it had been intended to be disposed of.

"Think no less of me." Celia muttered as they swiftly retreated. She lifted hand and pinched her neck around her voice box. Both Winchesters jumped when Celia let out a noise bubbling up in her throat that sounded like a wounded horse. A high pitched squeal of a dying animal. Celia broke off the noise, took a breath and made the call again. It sent a chill down the spines of both brothers.

"That'll get 'em comin'…I hope." Celia muttered softly and carrying an empty bucket each they slipped back as silently and swiftly as possible to the truck.

"Now what?" Sam asked.

"Ya never been on a buck hunt? Ya wait." Celia hauled herself up to sit on the tailgate. Her legs hung over the edge and kicked in the air. In a blur she ejected then rechambered the primary dart in her chosen tranquilizer rifle, the more temperamental of the three, and set the stock comfortably into her side, the muzzle pointed down to the ground between her legs.

Sam and Dean both climbed up, sitting on either side of the red head and mimicked her to a tee.

"Hope yer right 'bout this den thing Sammy." Celia whispered, her voice so hushed it was more of a breath than something to hear.

"Pretty sure." Sam returned just as quietly. "Like I said, eighty seven percent."

"Alright."

Hours slid by soundlessly except for the occasional rattle of breeze through scrub brush or when Celia squeezed her voice box and made the wounded horse call once in a while. Dean's sharp green eyes trained on the horizon and the darkness as slowly but surely the pre dawn light started to lighten the territory. He glanced at his watch more times that morning than he remembered doing it in the past month or two.

His joints started to stiffen and cold started to creep into his flesh and bones under his clothes, Dean's chin titled towards his chest and his eyes drifted half lidded. It was odd that he felt he could let his attention waver. The sharp, almost hypervigilant state that Celia seemed to be in settled his nerves about being less than totally engrossed in looking for the barest movements in the darkness around them. Sometime without him noticing a trickle of horse's blood had slid down the side of his jaw and throat, pooling the hollow of his collar bone and started to itch as it caked and dried.

Dean blinked heavily, watching his breath cloud in vapor around his face.

A shadow shifted through the steam of his exhale. Dean tensed, his eyes following the slow roll of pale light across the smooth rise and fall of a back in motion. He knew Celia had told him how large a griffon was and Sam had showed him pictures and diagrams but looking at one, actually seeing one was something totally different. These things were _big_. Dean felt every muscle in his body tighten. He watched with his breath practically held and his grip tightening on the rifle.

The griffon had to be at least eight feet tall, it moved cautiously, stopping every few steps and its head jerking avian like around to take in everything around it. Exactly as Celia had described. A sloped profile, a turtle like beak set into an avian head, ears twitching and sharp yellow eyes glowing in the dark. Dean couldn't make out real details, just the general shape in the dark. Slightly curved neck and back, a belly that arched up towards the spine and the long legs ending in large, flat paws. He barely made out the curve of wings pressed into the shoulders and sides of the animal and the tail twitched behind it.

Dean's hands roved into place on the tranquilizer rifle and he started to shift it into place. He froze when a hand closed around his shoulder, nails dug into his clothes and lightly into his skin. Dean's eyes never left the slow moving animal but he stilled, waiting for Celia to initiate. He could feel his younger brother just as tensed on Celia's other side. Dean's gaze left the griffon as he watched through the clouds of his own breath as three more shadows of slightly varying sizes crept silently out of the dark towards the blood soaked bait. The first animal on the scene stood vigilant, avian head twitching from side to side and every few minutes the wings ruffling and tail switched. The three stilled even more when the lamp like eyes seemed to light on them for a second before moving on. The big guard gave its head a shake and opened its beak in a low, bird like croak; blowing heavily through its nostrils. Even with the substantial amount of area between them Dean heard both noises and it sent a chill down his spine. He stayed true to his nature, calm, relaxed and as always itching to act.

His stomach was actually starting to ache waiting to move, his eyes flashing from animal to animal as the griffon pride started to scratch and dig at the blood soaked earth.

"Take two."

The command was more of a breath than actual words in his ear. Dean's eyes instantly moved from the big guard to a smaller griffon lingering just in its shadow. The quickest secondary shot he could take. There was no doubt in his mind that the pride would bolt after the first round of shots.

"Big one and left." He breathed back, keeping his voice almost totally out of the huff of air.

He didn't hear Celia pass the message on to Sam and nor did he care. He had his two targets. He was suddenly completely unaware and totally aware of his two partners at the same time. Like in all Hunts Dean had lived through with a partner, he stretched himself to be completely engrossed in their existence, physically and even emotionally. Dean's acute empathy for the world around him made it easy to tap into Sam and even Celia. He slid the tranquilizer rifle into place, digging the stock deep into his shoulder and lifted the rifle, aiming at the throat of the big guard, high, just below the jaw. His only thought was the way that the recoil of the fired rifle from a sitting position on the tailgate was going to hurt like hell.

He felt more than heard Sam and Celia breath out and he was barely half a second behind, pulling the trigger, not bothering to see if the dart made contact shifted his aim and fired again, sending another dosage of the drug sailing through the air.

Unfortunately the second shot wasn't nearly as well placed as the first. After the first three darts made contact, all about in the same second and deep into the throats and chests of three griffons, the pride bolted. The startled croaks of the animals as they lurched in surprise of being shot. Dean's second fire made contact, the needle of the dart sinking deep into the side of the one griffon not part of the first assault as it balked and whipped around to retreat, the quiet release from the tranquilizer rifles not a part of their spook as much as the impact of the cartridges. The fourth griffon barked in surprise, the shock of being hit sending it crashing head over tail, skidding across the earth in a flurry of ripped out feathers and flying paws. The other three bolted, galloping away and chattering warnings as they went. The smaller griffon that had gone rolling struggled up to its paws scrambled almost drunkenly and shrilled into the air before stumbling and collapsing back to the earth.

The other three, driving off in different directions began to stagger in their steps.

Dean didn't care, Sam and Celia had only fired off one round, both of them were already off at a dead run towards the dropped griffon, a few yards a head of him. Dean slid off the uncomfortable tailgate, his shoulder and rib cage throbbing in pain from the recoil. And took off running after his brother and Celia cocking the tranquilizer rifle, sending another cartridge into firing position. He caught a movement just out the corner of his eye.

"SAM DOWN!"

His little brother didn't even look back, just dropped like a rock and rolled, losing hold of the tranquilizer gun as he went. The griffon that had been pacing on his left side skidded as it tried to pounce on Sam in mid stride. The lunge over shot, the animal snarled crashing hard into the earth, still swiping at Sam as it rolled. Dean set the rifle stock into his shoulder and fired, the dart sank into the feathered upper forelimb, sinking deep into the cording muscle and sending drugs rushing into the animal. Dean skidded to stand protectively between his brother and the griffon. It seemed even bigger than the big guard that he'd shot earlier. It scrambled, rolling onto its furred belly and got its paws and talons under it. The quickly lightening morning illuminated the details of the griffon. Dean could see the pattering on the feathers, the stripes of color in the retinas, the scales on the forelimbs that looked something like an eagle's talon mutted with a big cat's forepaws.

The animal's eyes flashed to the cartridge sunk into its leg. Lamp eyes narrowed and head snapped up, locking its gaze on Dean and Sam. The pointed ears pinned back and its beak cracked open with a dangerous leonine hiss of rage. The griffon pushed itself up, starting a slow predator walk around the brothers. Sam scrambled up to his feet, actually gripping Dean's jeans as leverage to haul himself up. The brothers watched, twisting to stay facing the griffon. The short wings across its shoulders fluttered and the low rattling hiss more suited for a bull alligator. Dean didn't have a chance to free the Colt 1911 hand gun from his jeans waist before the griffon flung itself forward, beak flung wide and talons raking the air. Dean caught the claws and flung himself back, bowling over Sam to avoid the beak. The elder Winchester lost hold of both his hand gun and the rifle, stifling a snarl of pain as he felt the claws slice through his clothes and flesh, he actually felt the pain flair across his skeleton as the talons left deep gouges in the bone of his ribs, snapping a few. Again over flung the griffon rolled, its weight crashing over Sam and crushing the younger Winchester for a brief second before the animal kept rolling. Its voice warbled in anger, the avian noise cut through the air. The griffon and the Winchesters all rolled back to their feet, Dean collapsing again almost instantly, one arm wrapped as tightly around his lacerated side as possible as he forced the urge to vomit and crumple down again. Sam flinched with every move, his joints, bones and muscles jerking after being pounded into the earth by a ton of fur and feathers. Before the boys could recover the griffon lunged again, a whirl of tawny color and flashing yellow eyes. Dean and Sam scrambled, dancing out of the way. Sam took a hind paw kicked deep into his stomach and rolled, gasping for air and choking on pain; the younger Winchester felt a few collapsed ribs and deep welts already rising on his skin where the claws had just grazed his flesh. Dean lost his footing, his boots sliding across the earth as he tried to get out of the way and towards the Colt 1911 just out of reach. His side burned, raging in pain and weakened ribs cracking or breaking with his own scrambling movement. He couldn't catch his breath. A taloned paw crashed down on the middle of his back, crushing him down into the dirt, beak snapping down towards his collar bone and catching a bit of his hair, the skin of his collar bone and slicing across his ear. Dean yelped in pain as the griffon stumbled, pitching forward and rolling on top of him, the off again.

The animal let out a slurred growl and stumbled, pitching sideways onto the earth. Neither brother had noticed the griffon slowing up, staggering and slobbering as the animal's breathing became heavier and labored. The tranquilizer rushing through it and shutting down its systems.

Dean hauled himself out from under the now slack weight of the paw; combat crawled a foot or two and grabbed the Colt 1911. His hand fell on the gun, ready for fire and finger on the trigger. He rolled onto his back, hefting his torso up and cocked the gun, using both hands to steady his aim and pointed it dead at the griffon's skull.

The animal's head twitched, jerking erratically and it croaked, saliva dribbling out of its beak and it crawled forward a bit before slumping entirely to the earth. The corded muscles that looked like ropes of steel under flesh went slack, wings and paws twitching and eyes glazing over and groaned.

Dean's eyes and aim stayed on the griffon's head for another minute before he was sure the animal was either dead or sedated and dropped back down to the earth. He didn't let go of the Colt 1911, but his grip loosened. And he laid back on his back, catching his breath and easing his thundering heart for a few seconds before rolling onto his bad side. The elder Winchester choked back a cry of pain as dirt ground into the open wounds of his side; his breath came in pained, harsh pants around the broken and cracked ribs. Dean grit his teeth, toughening himself against the pain and slowly pushed himself up to his hands and knee, holding his lacerated side tightly he climbed further to his feet.

"Sam?" His voice sounded cracked and rasped.

"Yeah…'m fine…" Sam groaned from near by, the younger man was sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms lightly wrapped around his gut. He coughed several times.

Dean only nodded. Both brothers glanced around in the pale but quickly growing, gray dawn. Both jumped nearly out of their skins when the sedated griffon choked up a wet, ugly cough before falling still again. Dean was half tempted into opening fire into the animal's head, anyway.

The three barked reports made him look down at the Colt 1911, quickly making sure that he hadn't pulled the trigger.

"Red?" Sam rasped, twisting around where he sat, the echo of gun fire still ringing in the air. "Red!"

Panic flushed through Dean's mind and body. He'd forgotten about Celia.

"Red!" Sam scrambled to his feet, wincing in pain.

"Celia!" Dean barked as loudly as he could. The two brothers set off at a stiff jog, moving in the direction they last saw her. Sam snagged his tranquilizer rifle on the way but Dean kept his hands secured around his torn side and the Colt 1911. The brothers gave wide births to collapsed and unconscious griffons, their boots slid in the blood made mud.

"Red!"

"Celia!" Dean barked after his brother, a few steps behind and struggling with the pain in his torso. "C'mon damnit! Celia! M'amin!"

"Dean! Right there!" Sam forced himself into a sprint, rushing a head of his brother. Dean clenched his teeth and broke into a faster jog, closing the last few yards to where a sixth griffon had seemed to have tried to ambush Celia; the ground was churned up and spattered in blood. The tranquilizer rifle was left in the mud, the metal twisted beyond repair. The sixth griffon was hunched up oddly on the ground, the remains of an epic battle Dean and Sam had just missed to witness written all over the carcass.

The lower half of its jaw was nearly torn all the way from its skull. Both short wings were clearly broken, heavily missing feathers and one practically ripped out of the animal's shoulder, actually most of the fore limb it connected with was torn out of socket. There were several slashes still slowly dripping blood from across the griffon's face. Feathers scattered and floated on the thin surface of a swiftly spreading pool of blood feed from three gunshot wounds out the back of the griffon's avian head and neck.

The odd way the griffon was collapsed stopped Dean's heart. It was on top of Celia, all the brothers could really see was a slack arm, fingers lifeless around the shape of the .50 AE Desert Eagle. The brothers rushed forward, heaved the dead griffon's head up and aside. They moved around to the nearest side, dug their hands under the one ton animal and forced through their own pain and heaved, shoving their shoulders into the carcass and trying to beat the effects of rigor mortis. A bubble of air caught in the throat of the dead animal escaped in the movement, making it shudder and sound like a gasp. There was an ugly crunch of fragile bones snapping under weight when it finally rolled over.

Celia was rolled on her right side and arm, her other arm draped across her side and her shoulder clearly dislocated, red hair a fan on the ground and slowly soaking into the pool of blood around her head rolled back and her neck twisted oddly. Dean's nervous hands raced there first, feeling down her spine searching for a broken neck. He let a small prayer of thanks slip from his lips that it was whole.

"She's not breathing." Dean said, his voice rushed, his fingers lighting over her lips and her then down to the hallow of her throat. "I can't feel her heart either." Panic was quickly taking over his systems.

"On her back." Sam ordered, trying to keep his voice even and calm, his elder brother already moving to follow the order. The brothers gingerly eased Celia over, Dean supporting her neck until she was flat on her back. Dean flinched at the sight of the other side of her head, an ugly blossom of red and blue bruising was curling up all over the right side of her face, temple and down her throat, a trickle of blood slipped slowly from the corner of her mouth..

Sam set the heel of his palm into Celia's sternum, pressed his other palm over his knuckles and threaded his fingers together. Sam shifted, lifting his shoulders over his hands.

"On five Dean."

The elder Winchester nodded in agreement and carefully titled Celia's head back as Sam pressed his weight down rhythmically into Celia's chest, counting under his breath and barking five at his brother. Dean covered Celia's mouth with his own, pinching her nose and blew all the air from his lungs into hers. Dean pulled back, took a breath and transferred it before leaning back as Sam took up compressions again.

"C'mon, Celia." Dean asked quietly, choking on the fear threatening to crush him. "Snap out of it, girl."

"…five! Dean!"

The elder Winchester breathed for Celia again, his hand sliding from her nose to thread comfortingly in her blood tangled hair and rubbing gently over the ridges of her horns.

"Please. C'mon Celia. Breathe by yourself, you don't need me. Do it. Come on." Dean tried to order, feeling the bite of salt at the edges of his eyes.

"…five! Dean!" Sam barked.

Celia chest rose as Dean's breath rushed into her lungs but didn't take, he could feel the warmth starting to slip away from her lips and face.

"Celia. M'amin, please. Breathe." Dean begged, praying silently for her life, hoping whatever powers there where would grant him that. He could taste Celia's blood and sweat on his lips, he was shivering uncontrollably at the crushing feeling of loss as it started to replace his consuming panic.

"Don't do this, please."

"Five! Dean. Five!"

Dean filled his chest and forced the air out into Celia's torso, willing at the same time for it to take. He jerked when she coughed into his mouth. The elder Winchester dragged himself away, both freezing as Celia broke into a fit of rasping hacks and coughs. Her voice hoarse and air rushing harshly over her throat. Sam and Dean both went limp with relief and Celia sucked in air enough to slowly bring the coughing down to pants and gasps. Her chest heaving erratically began to even out and her blinked her eyes open, tears streaking over her face.

"G…g-goddam-m-mnit…" her voice crackled out and gasped in something so close to sobs it broke the brother's relief flushed hearts. Dean pulled her up, allowing her to dry heave on her hands and knees for a second as Dean eased himself down onto his butt and pulled her into his chest, hugging her as tightly as he could.

"Good job Sammy." Dean rasped out as his younger brother shifted over to sit protectively on Celia's exposed side, effectively wrapping Celia in a complete wall of Winchester. Sam nodded reaching out to rest a hand securely on Celia's shoulder and arm, moving in slow soothing circles over her skin and blood soaked clothes.

"Put my shoulder back in." Celia choked out, sobering for a few seconds to make the request. "Do it now."

"Red-"

"Please." Her plea broke through Sam's protest. Dean pushed her back towards Sam. The younger brother setting up to brace her back. Dean pressed one hand into the crook of Celia's dislocated shoulder and set his other hand precisely on her bicep. He took a deep breath and in a swift movement shoved and twisted the joint, there was a sound of grinding bone, a wet twist of muscle and a pop the joint slid back into place. Celia lurched violently, barking in pain and shaking uncontrollably under Dean and Sam's hands. Her shaking died down, new tears streaking across her face.

"Fuck…" she whispered in pain, the noise more of a whimper than anything else and excepted Dean's embrace all over again, each breath she took rattled and riddled with pain.

Celia shivered violently and clawed at Dean's shirt, only settling her jerky movements when she had a tight handful of tee shirt and flannel wrapped in her grip. Dean hissed in pain, shifted to ease the tension on his lacerated side and broken ribs before settling again, drawing her closer and just inflicting more pain on himself, but he refused to let go. The brothers eased the tension in their shoulders, as fast as it had begun it was over, the first part of the Hunt was done, leaving them with broken, cracked and bruised ribs and organs, pounding head aches, bleeding open wounds and caked in a layer of red clay dirt and blood.

The darkness had given way to a dawn that seemed more like a sun set with the cast of golden and orange light. Dean blinked, twisting to look around the scrub desert. He narrowed his eyes in the light, watching with some fascination as the breeze ruffled the lifeless feathers of the dead griffon.

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**Much Love Read and Review Please**


	34. Black Water

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all! **

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Thirty Four: Black Water**

"**You could not step twice into the same river, for other waters are even flowing on you… "**

**- Heraclitus**

…

_Blackriver Canyon, Elko County, Nevada_

_3:35 a.m._

Celia stopped moving, her hand poised over where she was working and blinked, shaking her head carefully and waiting until her vision cleared.

Dean stayed perfectly still, his green eyes flickered to the thin thread that was looped around a needle in Celia's hand at one end and looped in neat, small stitches in his side on the other. Dean watched silent and somewhat fascinated as a small cloud of gray seemed to pulse in her blood colored eyes, clouding her vision briefly before ebbing away again and Celia's confidence returned for her to make a few more stitches, knitting his torn flesh back together. His ribs throbbed and ached with every rising breath. He couldn't move properly and his whole right side was stiffening up. Sam had done most of the stitching until his littler brother's own cracked and bruised ribs couldn't take the hunched position and he'd been shooed away to stretch out in the back seat of the truck with a pound or two of ice wrapped in a towel pressed into his sides for a while before trekking off into the scrub to get the Explorer. 

Dean had complete faith and trust in Celia doing a good job of finishing up stitching his side back together, even if her vision was proving to a hindrance and slowing the process down to a sickening crawl of progress. At least it meant that the stitches were all done with the greatest care possible. His skin and muscles were numb from the constant swipe of a soaked towel dunked repeatedly into the melting ice water in the cooler with the last of the tranquilizer darts. Dean flinched, feeling the icy cloth lightly brush over his numbed skin. He let out a pained sigh and stilled as she crawled her way up the deep gouges in his flesh. 

Personally he didn't care. Those short moments of Celia completely lifeless had scared him. He could careless what she was doing so long as she was moving around and close enough that he could touch her, make sure she was real. Her face was still bruised, her eyes clouded, movements stiff and slow, favoring her relocated shoulder and her clothes and skin still soaked in swiftly drying blood but she was whole. Alive. 

"You alright?" Dean asked quietly. 

Her eyes flashed from her work to his face. 

"Yeah. I'm fine." She returned. 

"You keep hesitating." Dean's eyes roved over the ugly bruising across her face. "Can you see?"

Celia didn't flinch but Dean felt her hands slip a little over the slashed skin of his torso before she steadied again, at least she hadn't been putting in a stitch right then.

"It's in and out." She confessed. "That rattle to my head didn't help me much."

Dean nodded and exhaled softly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, Dean by the looks of it, ya were busy yerself. I don't blame ya." Celia gave him a small smile. Dean nodded and let his head fall back, looking up at slowly receding sky of the early Nevada morning. He shifted again uncomfortably on the metal under him. He decided that a truck would be great in tight spots. It was the perfect portable surgery table, Dean had no problem lying on his back in the bed while he was patched up. Plenty of room for people of Dean and Sam's tall height and wide shoulders to stretch out; added bonus of not having to worry about cleaning up blood. Anybody could easily explain a blood stained truck bed away. Just forgot to clean up after the last buck kill. 

A truck would be good. Maybe if Sam ever bothered to get his own ride Dean could talk him into it. In addition to the Impala, it was like having his cake and eating it too.

Course he could skip the middle man and just have Celia come along and they could use her truck. 

"Still would have liked to have the chance to help out." Dean sighed and rolled his head back around to watch her. She was taking another second to let her eyesight clear. Dean sighed, his chest collapsing a little then expanding again. He lifted a hand and lightly touched the ugly purple and read bruise on her face. She jerked, unable to see his hand then relaxed when she realized it was him. She blinked heavily, letting Dean touch the bruise. 

"If it was a guy that did this to you I'd kill him." Dean declared, letting his hand drop to rest across his bare chest. Celia smiled, it was a one sided quirk of her lips so oddly 'cowgirl' it made Dean grin back. 

"Dean, ya know for a fact I would never let a man touch me like this."

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself." Dean sighed. He perked at a small laugh that slipped from Celia's lips. 

"All that chivalry…" Celia sighed. Dean just grinned then twisted to watch as she finished off the last of the stitches, totally closing up his side and tying off on the last careful minding. Dean jumped a little when she dipped and swiftly bit through the surgical thread. Her teeth lightly brushed across the enflamed skin sending a shiver of electricity racing down his spine, sliced through the thread and she sat back, dumping the remaining thread and needle into a small jar of alcohol. She stretched to the tackle box filled with medical supplies and withdrew a squarish glass bottle of amber liquid.

"What's that?"

"Pure whiskey." She twisted the cap off the bottle and poured a little out onto a clean corner of the pink and brown streaked towel.

Dean held out his hand and smiled when she casually handed it to him. Dean sat back and slugged a deep draw and nearly spilled the rest over his face when Celia swept the alcohol soaked cloth over the fresh stitches and swelling side. 

"Goddamnit." Dean barked and flinched, trying to scramble back. He froze when Celia's hand pressed down hard into his throat and effectively pinned him down to the truck bed.

"Ahote, I swear to god if ya pop a single stitch I will cut ya back open and do it all over again without icin' ya down, got it?" Celia growled. Dean narrowed his eyes but let out a tightly held breath and nodded. 

"Good boy." She said and lightly lifted her hand to brush her fingers through his short, dark blonde hair. The reaction was instant. Dean relaxed completely and shut his eyes, extracting every ounce of sensation he could out of the brief touch. His eyes drifted back open and he clenched his teeth when her hand left his skull and returned to patting the cloth over his stitched side, killing what ever infection that was trying to take hold. 

"What's that mean?" Dean asked between clenched teeth. "'Ahote'?"

Celia didn't look up at him. "Sit up."

Dean obeyed the command and pushed himself up gently to a sitting position, his face pinched in pain as he moved his ribs shifting. "Celia-" his voice was a gasp.

"Arms up, hands over yer head." 

Dean did as commanded flinching and linking his fingers together before resting his palms on the top of his head. Celia pulled out a small jar of a thick white paste. She scooted closer, and started working a handful of the paste between her hands. 

"Celia, c'mon. Whats it mean? You've called me that. The Crow and the Chieftain called me that in my dreams-"

"It means 'restless one'. It's a tribal name. Cree or Hopi…might be Lakota, I forget."

"Like 'M'amin'…" Dean watched as she lightly worked the paste into his torso, it fell cool, the cold seeping in to ease the fire of his broken ribs and aggravated skin, before it faded back to flushed heat of a quickly setting in fever. "Who gave it to me? You?"

"Nathaniel. Said it fit ya." Celia worked around his sides. "I agree."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean yer a rover. Yer bones itch."

Dean looked at her, clueless, a single eyebrow quirked up.

"Ya run like a mustang, Dean. Yer as damn near feral as ya can get. It's…it's just yer name is all." 

"Like 'Appaloosa Crow' fits you?"

Celia shrugged and finished working in the balm around Dean's chest. 

"Done. Where the hell is that boy?" She looked off in the direction of where Sam had gone, shifting to sit a comfortable cross legged position next to her. 

"He's coming. There's a cloud of dust." Dean nodded towards the cloud. 

"Good, we're runnin' short now. Should have taken the Impala to the vet's office. She's just too damn loud first thing."

"Short on time?"

"I was countin' on this part of the Hunt to be over hours ago. It ran too damn long."

"Celia, stop figgeting." Dean tried to sound soothing and teasing at the same time, not an easy task as he was barely breathing correctly. He reached out and lightly ruffled her hair, scratching his fingers across the ugly gash in the side of her horn, scratching the scar lightly then dropped away.

Dean's hand roved over his side, not the newly stitched part of his chest, but the old scar running down his torso and pelvis, the one he didn't remember. Dean sighed and sat back, leaning on his hands. He blinked, twisted to look in front of him and behind. 

"The sun and the moon are up at the same time." He muttered.

Celia twisted to look up, neither of them looking away from the sky as Sam pulled up next to the truck with the Explorer and horse trailer. The younger Winchester slipped out of the driver's seat and stalked up, his movements stiff and jerky. The younger man cocked his head and then twisted to look up, trying to see what they were looking at. 

"Is that normal?"

"What the hell do ya think, Dean? Since when do the moon and sun float together? What time is it?"

Dean's eyes flashed to his watch and widened, "It's three a.m. I swear I thought it was six."

Sam twisted to really look at the two celestial bodies. "Any idea what it means?"

"No but I sure as hell won't take it for a good omen. Let's go." Celia slid off the tailgate and snagged one of the still working tranquilizer guns. Sam turned to follow and Dean started to ease himself down from the tailgate. 

"Where the hell are ya goin'?"

Dean cocked his head. "Down the canyon-"

"Dean, ya look like a half done autopsy. I think it's safe to say that yer stayin' here."

"You and Sam aren't much better." Dean argued.

"Dean just stay put. We'll be back in an hour." Celia laid a hand on his head, tangling her fingers into his hair and tugged gently. Dean's eyes shut for a second and when he opened them he growled softly. Celia and Sam were rushing stiffly towards the horse trailer. In a blur Celia backed out the buckskin stud horse, Blackbird and swung astride his back in a single hop. 

"Sam! Celia!"

"Stay put Dean! This Hunt's over for ya!" Celia barked, Sam backed another horse out of the trailer, a tri-colored paint horse mare, Sanuye and hauled his large frame up onto her back. The pretty mare was a cinnamon brown, with black legs, mane and tail, her sides and face spattered with white markings. The younger Winchester cast a single apologetic look back at his elder brother. Celia whistled, slinging the strap of the tranquilizer gun over her head and across her back. She yanked Blackbird around and Sam followed, both horses breaking into full out gallops across the desert scrub. The sudden urgency obvious in the horses' paces. Before Dean could even get fully to his feet and pull the button down flannel loosely over his shoulders Celia and Sam were well out of reach and hearing range. Dean watched as the bold paint mare lunged forward and in a single leap carried Sam over the collapsed back of an unconscious griffon. With a grunt the mare thundered back to earth and doubled her pace. Blackbird and Sanuye rocketed across the earth and by the time Dean carefully eased his way up to the ramp, both Sam and Celia were out of sight. Just a cloud of grit and dust after they plunged down the side of the cliff. Dean sighed and looked in the trailer. The pale blonde head of the cremello stud twisted around to look at him and snorted softly at him. Dean sighed and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, flinching when the wind made the plaid flannel shirt lift and slap lightly across the bare skin of his chest; aggravating the fresh stitches and enflamed skin. Dean stepped carefully into the trailer and backed Honeycatcher out. The stud snorted softly and stood still, waiting. Dean lifted left leg as high as he could, biting back a bark of pain and let it drop back to earth. There was no way he was going to even make it up on the stud horse, much less ride to catch his brother and Celia. Dean sighed and did the stud a favor, stripping off the saddle and lightly tying the reins to a hitch ring mounted on the side of the trailer, giving the stud room to relax. Dean maneuvered his way slowly back to the Silverado, his eyes flitting to the drugged griffons strewn around the earth like forgotten stuffed toys of some giant child. 

He couldn't figure out how Celia intended to get the things into the red stock trailer anyway.

…

Sam leaned back, easing the weight on Sanuye's back as she skirted and seemed to dance down the side of the canyon wall. The painted mare close on Blackbird's heels. Sam's eyes swept the sides of the canyon, swiftly rising up around him in multicolored bands of sandstone and Nevada rock. It seemed the only way down the out of use pass trail was at a near trot, as if a slower pace was more likely to cause an accident or death. The seemingly constant scramble of hooves made it easier to keep their legs under them. So as much as Celia cursed and growled softly to Sam about the last thing she wanted to do was go down into Blackriver Canyon, she knew how to go about doing it. 

The canyon rushed by in a blur, rising up into the sky twisted between light and dark, the crash of hooves and the cloud of dust and dirt kicked up in his face, lodging in his nose and biting at his eyes and throat. Sam stayed silent except for his hitched gasping of dusty air. 

Sanuye stopped so abruptly Sam pitched over the side of the mare and slammed into the earth with a grunt and muffled bark of pain as his bruised and cracked ribs were jostled and his head jarred into the rocky earth. Sam coughed, panting for air then slowly pushed himself up to sitting position. 

Sam blinked in the dirt and kicked up dust, his eyes falling on the shadows of several long, thick legs in the dirt. He tilted his head up and looked through the cloud to see Celia, Sanuye and Blackbird standing perfectly still. The only sound around Sam was the clatter and rattle of rocks, dirt and dust still cascading down the cliff face and settling around and the noise of air rushing through the throat and nostrils of the horses. Sam didn't move, unsure why they had stopped and waited for the dust to settle. 

"Red?" he asked softly. 

"Hush Sam." She said softly. Sam shut up, pushed himself up and slowly remounted Sanuye.

"Ya alright?" Celia practically breathed. 

"I'm hurting." Sam whispered back truthfully. After spending a whole day with her and then nearly watching her die Sam felt completely compelled to tell the truth. Celia had never sugarcoated anything for him, why do it to her?

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here and heading for Colorado soon." Celia assured quietly. Sam nodded, believing every word she said. "Just move slow and quiet."

Sam nodded, lightly dusting himself off as Sanuye stepped into motion a stride after Blackbird. Sam was slightly surprised by the sheer lack of noise emitted from the horses as they maneuvered on the canyon floor. Their hooves slipped a little on the rocky earth but the clatter and rumble of small landslides seemed to come from all corners of the gap. Sam rubbed the dirt out of his eyes, blinking to clear his vision and looked around. The canyon walls were towering over him, stripes and bands of different colors, the floor was rocky and uneven, untread by man or animal for God knew how long. Sam could tell the crunch and clatter of the hooves on the earth was upsetting Celia, she wanted silence. 

Sam felt the earth rise and arch under them, the horses and Sam easing their weight back to move more smoothly. A low rumble and the sound of rushing water suddenly drowned out Sam's senses. He twisted in the saddle to look backwards. The sheer wall of the canyon yawned open at the base, a gaping black hole that looked like a mouth and seemed so pitch black there was no end to it. Out of the yawning gap poured the thundering and rushing river that had carved out the canyon for eons. The surface of the water churned and roared nearly ten more feet below the banks Sam and Celia maneuvered carefully over. Sam stared at the river, his stomach tightening in a knot made of shock and the lingering images of his visions. 

"It's black water." Sam whispered. 

"What?"

"The water…it's black." Sam muttered again, staring at a place in the river where it seemed to churn up and bubble over a rock, where the foam and back current should have been white was pure black. Every single drop of the river seemed to be made of a thinned out tar or black paint. "Black water."

"There's somethin' deep in the gut of the canyon that makes it black. Ya didn't think we just named this pass 'Blackriver' did ya?"

"Yeah, I did." Sam muttered softly and tried to drag his eyes away from the water to move them back to scanning the terrain but his brain kept screaming at him to keep an eye on that water. 

The rushing river seemed to sooth Celia while it upset Sam, the noise of it covering the sound of their progress through the river valley. She seemed more relaxed and all Sam could see was the rippling image of Celia drenched in blood crouching over his own half gutted carcass and Dean drowning in the river. 

Half of the vision was already true: the black river, the canyon, Celia's blood covered personage.

His eyes traveled over the canyon walls, further in they were marked with carved out caves, man made it seemed by the way that the entrances were shaped. And a twisted, rusted and ripped apart cart track still clung to the edge of an out crop high enough for the two horses and riders to slip under made him sure it was an old mining site for god only know how many years ago. Sam's eyes stayed on the broken tracks for a few long seconds before he was straining his neck and looked forward again. 

"This a silver cache isn't it?" Sam asked quietly. "This is the strike you told us about, that Colt bargained with the Greers to get silver for his guns?" _For the Colt._ He thought to himself. 

"Right Sammy." Celia said softly, "But the silver gave out a hundred years ago or so. Not even a vein since a little before World War I."

Sam nodded and stayed silent, his eyes flicked to the earth around the hooves of the horses. His attention totally on looking for some kind of track to follow. His heart seized another quarter mile along the river side. 

"Red, wolf tracks."

"That's the least of it…"

…

Dean rested his back against the side of the truck bed, his hand absently scratching the nostrils of the cremello stud. Dean learned quickly that Honeycatcher couldn't really be tied. The horse seemed to be able to loosen and untie any and all knots that Dean had tried. He let it go, the horse didn't wander, the grazing wasn't any good and the smell of the griffons kept Honeycatcher from inspecting the unconscious predators. Honeycatcher just contended to stand half dozing next to the truck, his neck and head stretched around across the tailgate and eyes closed. The stud's lips curled unconsciously every time that Dean's fingers lighted across the fur and flesh of his nose but the lazy breathing and swayed ears made it clear that the horse was practically asleep. 

Dean himself was dozing under the pressure of his injuries and exhaustion. The cab doors of the Silverado truck where hanging open, the soft rumble of deep southern country music washed the small area with low tones and deep bass. His eyes were shut and they barely flickered open when something scraped along the side of the truck. Honeycatcher's ears jerked forward and his head lifted off the metal. The horse nickered softly under his breath. 

"Just a tumble weed, 'Catcher." Dean muttered softly. 

The cremello snorted softly and shook his head. The nylon halter and lead rattling with the movement. But his eyes stayed open and ears perked forward. The stud scented and nickered quietly, easing his right hind hoof down from the turn back position horses took in rest. 

"'Catcher, just chill." Dean muttered. "It was nothing."

"_Was it?"_

Dean's eyes snapped open and he stared into the face of a large black and tawny coyote, the animal balanced lightly on the edge of the truck bed, barely a few feet between Dean and the canine.

The animal's lips curled back, baring teeth in an ugly grin, the gums of the animal white and stark against black teeth. 

"_Howdy Dean."_ The animal's jaws opened tongue crinkling and rippling but the only real noise that slipped out was an animal like hiss, the words and voice seemed more like a suppressed memory floating up to surface on his brain. The elder Winchester felt his pupils contract a little. He flung himself into motion the same second that Honeycatcher lunged towards the coyote. Dean rolled out of the way, squeezing between the cremello stud and the tailgate. He slammed into the earth and gasped in pain as his ribs crunched and ground together, his lacerated side stitched together that had just started to numb out was ground into the dirt. The excruciating pain exploded in his side and Dean forced it down he scrambled under a small chaos of hooves and paws, he lurched unnaturally to his feet and stumbling raced for the nearest thing he could think helpful. Sam's .45 Taurus Special resting on the driver's seat of the Silverado, traded for Dean's Colt 1911 before heading down the canyon. He could faintly hear and register the sound of a fight between Honeycatcher and the Coyote behind him. 

The Coyote snarled and snagged a hold of the lead rope hooked to Honeycatcher's halter and rolled over the side of the tailgate. The Coyote hit the earth dodged flying hooves under the tailgate and let go of the lead rope, bursting out from under the truck.

The cremello stud snarled and hurled himself after the canine but his head jerked back hard and hooves skidded. The rope was tangled and caught between the bumper, tailgate and the truck bed. The cremello's ears pinned back hard and wild blue eyes flashed to where the Coyote was closing quickly on Dean's back. The horse yanked at the rope and halter and whinnied as loud as he could, trying to warn Dean and reared up on his hind legs, boxing the air, the stud willing to break his jaw or rip the tailgate of the truck to get to the Coyote and keep it away from Dean.

The elder Winchester scrambled, aware of the warning and swung towards the open driver's side of the truck. His boots slipped, tripping him. Dean's hand landed on the grip of the handgun and he dragged it with him as he fell, rolling onto his back with his finger on the trigger. The Coyote lunged forward, jaws wide and Dean squeezed off a round the recoil slamming into him mercilessly. 

The animal grunted as the high caliber bullet slammed deep into the canine's gut, less than what Dean would have hoped for but the animal pitched sideways and rolled over, scrambling into the dirt. Dean's chest heaved and his heart hammered erratically behind his ribs but the sensation was starting to ebb and the pain in his ribs and side blossoming up again and he couldn't help the convulsive shivering that raced through his muscles. 

His heart stopped in his chest for a second before lurching back into beating. 

The Coyote jerked, scrambling oddly up to its paws and moving strangely, something like a badly put together marionette. The Coyote gave a violent jerk, its gut rolling up towards its spine, gave a sickly violent heave and a wet cough. The Coyote choked up a fair amount of blackish stomach fluids, blood and a glint of silver. 

The bullet from the Taurus. 

Dean's eyes flash to the wound in the Coyote's gut, it still bled openly, staining the fur and dribbling off into the dirt. The Coyote gave itself a shake, blinking its large eyes a few times and licking its teeth clean of blood and fluid. The animal's head lifted and glared at Dean through pale, flashing eyes. The lips curled back and the canine lunged forward again, jaws flung wide and aiming to rip Dean's throat out. Dean flinched. Then his eyes snapped open again at the sound of rapidly flapping wings and the croaks of a crow and the snarls and barks of the Coyote in his ears. Dean's vision was a little blurred by the flashes of black wings and black teeth, the crow had flown right into the Coyote's face, clawing at its eyes and ears. The Coyote swiped and snapped at the bird, jerking away each time the sharp beak sliced or nipped its skin and fur.

Dean didn't waste another second and lurched to his feet, racing awkwardly around the front of the truck, snagging the keys off the driver's seat as he went. 

The Coyote snapped its jaws, grabbing the wing of the crow between its teeth and flung the bird away with a satisfied bark and grinned widely. 

"_Run run run, son."_ The Coyote rumbled out a low, ugly hiss and stalked after Dean, stepping casually over the abandoned Taurus.

Dean wasn't panicking, per se. He was just feeling completely unprepared and that added to the excruciating pain in his side was swiftly becoming too much to fast. He couldn't stop shaking but he refused to slow down or give out. One of Dean's arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if the little support would stop his chest from breaking apart, he swiftly moved the keys to clench them in his teeth and practically threw himself onto the running board of the passenger side of the truck.

"_C'mon now, boy. Ya don't honestly want to put up the fuss of runnin'. That sixth sense of yer's will kick in and ya'll feel the girl and yer brother die down in the pass."_

_Sammy. Celia._ Dean's teeth ground across the metal of the key ring.

"_Ya know how ya humans are, all that sympathy pain." _

Dean scrambled, unnaturally hauling himself over the side of the truck and tumbled over the tool box. He slammed awkwardly into the bed of the truck. Honeycatcher jerked, head flying back then gave himself a violent shake rattling the halter and whinnying with his teeth bared and ears pinned. 

Dean's eyes flashed from the tool box to the horse screaming to be let go, his hands fumbling with the keys until he found the one for the tool box and practically broke the metal in the catch.

"_Here boy, finish what we started when ya were a cub."_

Dean yanked the lid of the box up and pitched sideways as the Coyote slammed into his side, leaping over the side of the truck, Dean felt teeth puncture into his fore arm. With a snarl he yanked his left arm around and kicked, landing his boot firmly into the Coyote's gut. He felt the skin of his fore arm ripping open as the Coyote rolled away, right into the raging cremello horse. Dean didn't bother looking, only taking some satisfaction at the sound of the Coyote yelping as Honeycatcher tore into the canine to best of its abilities. Dean twisted and grabbed a hold of the closest thing to his hand. 

One of the antique six shooters, the honey colored grip tight in his hand as he yanked the old Colt made gun from the leather hostler. Dean cocked back the hammer and twisted. 

"Catcher! Back!" Dean barked. The cremello horse jerked away from the pinned down Coyote, the stud's head jerked back and hooves scrambled to back up to the end of the tangled lead rope. The stud's face was scratched and slashed, spotted with scarlet blood. The Coyote was bleeding heavily out of a deep bite wound in its shoulder and the back of its neck. Dean fired a shot from the six shooter. The bullet sailed through the air and slammed deeply into the Coyote's hip, crunching loudly through bone and flesh. 

The noise the animal made caused Dean's gut to plummet. It was a wail like an animal being gutted alive. The Coyote pitched over the side of the tailgate and slammed into the earth. But the Coyote's scream did nothing to drown out the crack of thunder that the six shooter made on the fire.

Honeycatcher reared up on his hind quarters, locking up his forelegs and brought both hooves crashing down on the Coyote's side, promptly crushing the animal.

"Catcher!" Dean barked, the horse jerked back, kicking out at the Coyote as it went. The canine scrambled, crawling to its feet. As it moved the collapsed ribcage seemed to re-inflate, filling back out as if fifteen hundred pounds of horse had never even touched it. The Coyote stumbled and tried to break away, galloping over the scrub desert at high speed. 

Dean shoved himself up to stand in the truck bed, cocked back the hammer of the six shooter and aimed, his eye registering the spin in the chamber to another bullet. Dean breathed out and fired, the second bullet breaking away with another crack of thunder and a crackle of electricity that raced over his hand and forearm. The Coyote pitched forward, crashing head over tail in the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust and breaking into a scream as the second shot grazed across the Coyote's face, ripping it's flesh open from the ear to the nose tip. The canine lurched back to its paws and sprinted out of firing range. 

Dean's heart pounded sickly in his chest and he nearly collapsed, his hand aching from the electricity of the six shooter being fired. The elder Winchester gripped the side of the truck bed, letting his legs steady before he pulled out the six bullet chamber of the hand gun. There were only two bullets left in place. Dean tipped the gun and slid one bullet out and turned it over in his shaking hand. It was marked with a number eight.

"Colt made guns." Dean muttered softly before putting the bullet back and sliding the chamber back into place and twisting to put bullet number eight into firing position.

Honeycatcher snorted loudly and whinnied, swinging his head around and jerking the halter towards the canyon behind him. A croak drew Dean's eyes up. The crow landed oddly on the side of the bed, it seemed to favor one wing, but it croaked, fluttered and landed on Honeycatcher's shoulder, making the horse jerk. 

"Sam. Celia." Dean growled and quickly untangled the lead rope from the truck, flung it across Honeycatcher's shoulder. The elder Winchester raced back to the toll box, biting back pain and pulled free the leather belt and holster of the six shooter pair he'd used. Swiftly bucking it around his waist and sliding the other hand gun into its holster and rapidly checked the other gun to note the five bullets in the chamber. Then Dean carefully eased himself from the tailgate onto the dancing cremello's bare back and scooted forward to press his crotch into the horse's shoulder as the crow hopped back to the truck bed. Dean used his legs to steer the cremello towards the horse trailer where Dean had left the tack. It took some painful bending before he snagged a hold of the bridle and reins and some more twisting on his and Honeycatcher's part before the bit and headstall were firmly in place. Dean's hands barely wrapped around the reins and tangled into the mane before he jerked Honeycatcher around and broke the horse from a stand to a gallop, racing for the canyon drop. The crow leaped into the air off the tailgate and followed closely on Dean and Honeycatcher, casting its shadow on Dean's neck and shoulders.

…

"God…they tore it apart…" Sam muttered, a hand covering his mouth and nose. 

"Fuckin' used us…like cover." Celia spat.

Blackbird and Sanuye nervously side stepped around the mutilated carcass of an adult griffon and two smaller ones, cubs. The juveniles couldn't have been much bigger than a horse colt or a small doe and couldn't have weighed much more than a hundred and fifty pounds. Sam couldn't help the bubble of pity deep in his chest and stomach for the smaller animals. They were just babies.

"Came down here and wiped 'em out…FUCK YA KANEONUSKATWE!" Celia barked into the canyon, her voice rattling and echoing off the walls and swallowed by the water. The buckskin stud under her pinned his ears back and snorted softly. 

"Red-"

"Sam, I am going to fuckin' kill that fuckin' wolf!" Celia snapped ill temperedly, her eyes moved to the gap in the canyon wall one of the old mine tunnels that had been dug out by the griffon pride. Three more dead cubs lay mutilated just within the entrance or spread out almost decoratively on the outcropping the den had been built on. "I don't give a shit if it's a spirit god."

Sam's eyes stayed on the bloody wolf tracks all over the earth around the den and slaughtered cubs and babysitter. 

"How could a wolf kill a griffon?" He muttered.

"Wolves, Sam, wolves. A pack strong enough and smart enough can kill a lone griffon and the cubs…" Celia spat disgustedly over the side of her buckskin horse and saddle. "…like pickin' off sick does…they were doin' it for fun. This pack fuckin' sucks, wolves are fine but these sons of bitches…monsters-"

A soft warble of a noise stilled Celia's voice in her throat and rant. It was something like a squeak of a young hawk. Celia and Sam's attention snapped to the cave, their ears straining over the rush of the water near by. A soft croak brushed over the air and the sound of moving earth and rocks came with it. 

In a blur Celia pressed her heels into Blackbird's sides and the buckskin scrambled up the canyon wall to the outcropping and took a few steps into the den. The stud jerked back a nervous step at the scent of predators but Celia whispered in the horses ears, easing his tension and coaxing the horse into the den. Celia slid off the saddle and moved cautiously forward. She squatted back on her heels and dug into her pocket, slipping out a few strips of beef jerky and tore the strips up. She tossed one toward the cowering animal a few feet away. The animal was pressed as close to the den wall as possible but crawled forward a step to snatch up the meat. 

"Easy girl, c'mon." Celia coaxed, tossing another chunk of jerky towards the griffon cub. Everything about the cub was slimmer and rounder than the adult griffons. The paws looked huge in size; the tuffed ears were larger, too. Brilliant yellow eyes watched Celia warily, snagging a third chunk of jerky before eyeing the fourth in Celia's palm. The griffon cub crawled forward before cautiously snatching the meat out of her palm. The griffon scrambled back a little and swallowed the meat before scooting forward and finished off the rest of the jerky in Celia's hand, sitting still while the red head lightly scratched the cub under the jaw. Maybe it was because she smelled like a griffon or maybe it was the natural dominant personality or the blood caking on her clothes and skin, but the traumatized and abandoned cub clung to it. Before the kitten could bolt Celia slipped her belt out of her jeans and muzzled the cub, then scooped it up into her arms, one under the cub's gut and the other across its chest. She hauled the animal up like it was an over large calf and with little difficulty draped the cub over Blackbird's saddle. The horse put up more of a fuss than the cub did. Celia vaulted back up into Blackbird's saddle and reined the horse around out of the den. 

"One survivor." She muttered. 

"Wonder why…" Sam muttered, "They were perfectly capable of killing the whole litter…" 

"SAM!"

The younger Winchester could only bark in pain as the teeth of a wolf slammed shut on his collar, shattering the fragile bones just below the surface. Sam scrambled to grab a hold of the saddle horn as Sanuye spooked, rearing up to throw the wolf off and in the move sent Sam crashing to the ground as well. Sam rolled naturally to put space between himself and the assailant, he felt the flesh rip from his bones as it stayed in the clenched jaws of the wolf. His vision was blurred with gut deep terror and his eyes flashed onto the disfigured face and hate filled eyes of the wolf chieftain, Kaneonuskatwe. The animal's ugly, disfigured face was smeared with Sam's blood. The wolf snarled, a bit of Sam's shoulder still hanging between its teeth. 

As if making a show the wolf tossed its head and swallowed the torn skin and muscle with a snap of jaws.

Sam scrambled back, wild eyed and terrified. Sanuye lurched forward and tried to crush the offending wolf, her hooves skidding on the rock. Kaneonuskatwe snarled, lips curled back and teeth bared it snapped at the painted mare slashing at her legs. 

The tri-colored paint squealed sharply, ears pinned and danced back and away from the wolf. The mare didn't have a chance to get out of the way as a second, red furred canine lunged out from it's place hidden behind a boulder and snapped a mouthful of mane and yanked. Sanuye pitched sideways a terrified whinny ripping from her throat as the mare crashed hard onto her side in the rocky earth. 

A gun shot rang out, it seemed just over Sam's ear, grazing his temple. A tranquilizer dart slammed deep into the red furred wolf's throat, the dosage of drugs too high and too powerful, staggering the animal and stopping its heart cold. The wolf fell dead, Sanuye's flying hooves as the mare tried to get back to her feet kicked the carcass into the river and sent it rushing down the rapids. Sam's vision and world was a blur of horses, wolves and rushing, black water.

Sanuye and Sam were just desperately trying to get to their feet while blurs of gray, red, brown and black fur tried to kill them or roll them into the river. More than once he heard the report of gunfire and the terrified croaking of the griffon cub. Sam couldn't get to his feet long enough to look around much less fight back before the clawed paws or flashing teeth of a wolf knocked him back down. More than once he felt the icy black water spray across his skin dangerously. The terror deep in his heart was flooding through him with the sheer lack of control of his surroundings, no gun, no room to move, no Dean. Sam felt that he was going to die in Blackriver Pass. 

…

Dean was sure he would need a hospital, the impact of Honeycatcher hitting the floor of the canyon broke a few new ribs, his pain was so deep and getting deeper with every shattering breath. His vision was blurred and he knew he was in trouble when his pain became so deep he couldn't feel it anymore. The elder Winchester just hung onto Honeycatcher's shoulders and mane, both males had their teeth clenched so tightly their jaws ached. The cremello was galloping full out, each jarring impact of hooves felt like Dean was being hit by a Mac truck over and over, the only break in the painful rhythm was when for a split second or two Honeycatcher was air born over some object or outcrop before the thundering pace returned with a slam to earth. The horse snorted quietly between violently heaving breaths, as if trying to make an apology but he didn't slow down to comfort the elder Winchester. Dean just hugged the horse's back tightly, unaware that the horse was practically racing the river, everything around him was just a blur of tawny, sand color and black. Sometimes the river water and some times the feathers of the crow flying next to them.

Dean grit his teeth and tore his eyes away from the rolling muscle and bone of Honeycatcher's shoulder and looked up at the sound of gunfire and snarling. 

Dean's teeth clenched tightly together and he shifted up higher onto Honeycatcher's shoulder, he reestablished his grip on the rein, tightening them up and taking control of the wild gallop. A sharp tug and Honeycatcher lurched forward, launching himself over the back of a snarling wolf and slammed down between Sam and two other wolves trying to pin him and Sanuye down. 

The younger Winchester tore away from a wolf and twisted, the look of pure relief flooded Sam's eyes. Honeycatcher twisted, jerking around at Dean's tug of the reins. The horse's hooves trampled two wolves pushing them away from Sam, giving the younger Winchester the first chance in the scramble to straighten totally up and get a steady stance. The cremello stud pinned his ears back and stood like a pale wall between the wolves, Sam and the still flailing Sanuye. The mare, finally relieved of lupine assault, hauled herself to her hooves, bleeding from several shallow bites on her legs. Sam backed up towards the mare, his whole frame shaking with exhaustion. 

Three large wolves pinned their ears, hackles bristled up and lips curled up in ugly grins. One of them, the largest, was the disfigured Kaneonuskatwe.

Dean yanked one of the six shooters free and cocked the hammer back, aiming dead center between the wolf chieftain's eyes. 

"Back. The Fuck. Off." Dean snarled. 

Kaneonuskatwe grinned, lips curling completely back and a low rattling growl rippled from its chest, the noise sounded nauseatingly like a laugh. 

"_Seems I'll have to finish my cousin's sloppy work…"_

The voice was deep, more grizzled but like the Coyote's face it bubbled up and rippled over the surface of his brain. Sam's gut turned over as Kaneonuskatwe stalked a step forward.

"Dean!"

The elder Winchester fired the six shooter at the same second that the wolf chieftain lunged forward. The bullet swung wide and slammed into the wolf's shoulder. The animal's voice practically broke Dean's ear drums when it screamed, the electricity sparked across his hand and arm and the crack of thunder rattle his teeth. The sound the wolf made spooked the rest of the wolf pack, making them lurch back from their assault on the three horses and riders.

The crack from the six shooter doubled, Dean's eyes moved form where a second shot slammed into the animal's flank and bowled it over and flashed to where Celia had her. 50 AE Desert Eagle tight in hand and the barrel smoked from a round fired. She didn't waste another second and open fired on the normal wolves. One jerked and lurched over with a bark of pain and scrambled to get away, another was grazed across the shoulder and the rest of the wolves seemed to try to scatter, turned rabbit with their alpha writhing on the rock bed. 

Kaneonuskatwe scrambled teeth flashing across its scarred muzzle and gathered all its strength and lunged vengefully at the elder Winchester. 

"Dean!" Sam barked, over a second crack of the six shooter. But the second fire went wide when Honeycatcher reared back to get away from the charging wolf, the weight of the wolf chieftain slammed into the cremello's shoulder and side. The horse's hooves slipped and both the animal and man plunged down the ten foot fall into the black water of the rushing river.

"DEAN!" Sam's voice cracked on his brother's name. He didn't register the sound of Celia and the buckskin stud, Blackbird already galloping passed him. Blackbird's hooves kicking and trampling Kaneonuskatwe, sending the wolf rolling into the canyon wall. Sam moved in a blur scrambling onto Sanuye's back and was after Celia and the buckskin in a heart beat. 

Dean and Hoineycatcher broke the surface of the rush water, swallowing and choking on black liquid. The cremello stud naturally started trying to lunge through the water, swimming against the current and in the shallowest part of the river scraping his hooves against the bottom. Dean tangled his hand into the mane and clung to the animal as desperately as he could in the river. The cold of the water shocking his system worse than any of the falls and jarring impacts of the galloping horse. His narrow breathing constricted to almost nonexistence. His vision blurred and blacked out over and over again, and the brief seconds it was clear he could only see the black water or the pale horse or the flashing wings if the crow trying to keep up with them as the river swallowed and dragged them further and further away from safety. 

He felt unbelievably tired, all his energy was spent clinging to Honeycatcher.

Celia and Sam charged full tilt down the raised river bank, straining to keep up and Sam hoarse screaming his brother's name over and over. The two horses were sweating and stumbling trying to keep their break neck paces, teeth clenched around bits and hooves slamming into the stone and dirt of the canyon.

Dean's glazed green eyes flashed to where Sam and Celia were thundering along the bank. 

"Sa-" His voice drowned as black water slopped over his lips and forced down his throat and into his stomach. The cold water hitting bottom like kick in the gut.

"HANG ON DEAN!" 

The thundering river and hooves drowning out both brotherss' voices. Celia didn't bother speaking, her eyes flashed forward, down the river towards the end of the canyon where the river plunged back under ground into another gaping black cavern. Her heels slammed into Blackbird's flanks, spurring the horse into a flat out sprint. If Dean and Honeycatcher went through that mouth there was no coming back. She snatched a coiled lariat tied to her saddle and tightened the slip knot. 

Her tongue pressed into the roof of her mouth and her teeth, the whistle carried over the rushing water and breath of the horses. Sanuye pinned her ears and lunged forward, catching up to the buckskin and galloping practically pressed into the other horse's side. Celia turned towards Sam and Sanuye, rapidly tying and knotting the rope around the horn of Sam and Sanuye's saddle. She was already twisting the lasso in her hand. 

Dean's blurry vision trying to keep up and spinning in the freezing water He heard the whistle and felt Honeycatcher twist and try swimming, whinnying desperately, towards Celia and her voice command to come. Dean reeled, almost sliding off the cremello when the raw edge of the rope slapped across his face. His instincts snapped into action and he looped his arms around the rope. It burned across his skin as it tightened. It was a good move on Dean's part, the lasso had slung over Honeycatcher's head, if the elder Winchester hadn't put his hands and arms in the way the rope would have strangled the horse.

A sharp, bark of a whistle cut through the air, snapping out of Celia's lips in a command. Sam felt Sanuye skid to a stop, her hind legs collapsing and sliding under her. The mare locked up her forelegs and hauled her head back. Sam almost lost his balance and pitched into the river himself. Sanuye slid, her hooves digging into the earth and rock, her teeth clenched so tight around the bit she almost bit through the metal. Sam didn't waste a second and wrapped his hands tightly around the rope and he hauled with all his strength and weight, trying to pull his brother back. The painted mare pulled hard, actually shifting back a few inches. 

Dean yelped when the rope burned into his arms and Honeycatcher choked, coughing heavily to get air back into his suddenly constrict airway. 

Celia twisted Blackbird sideways, breathed a silent prayer and launched the buckskin horse over the side of the bank and dropped into the river. Blackbird, Celia and the griffon kitten gasped at the sheer cold of the water, ice pouring around them, but that didn't stop the horse or determined rider. Blackbird plunged through the water, by sheer luck the bank had dipped, the river shallowed out after a swell over a submerged boulder. The rope around Honeycatcher's throat gave the horse enough leverage to dig his hooves down into the river bed, the water rushing just up along the pale animal's jaw. Blackbird plowed towards his herd mate and dug his own hooves into the river bed and slid sideways, slamming bodily into the cremello. 

"Celia-" Dean gasped, reaching out instinctively to grab her hand.

"Dean, ya alright?" She barked over the rushing water, the two horses and two humans oddly calm in the rushing water. They had footing, leverage and an anchor, the terror had ebbed. 

"No-" The elder Winchester choked on the black water, his teeth chattered shivering violently and staying pressed as tightly to Honeycatcher as he could. 

"I told ya to stay back." Celia barked, feeling Blackbird brace against the water by digging in deeper pressing in close to Honeycatcher. The two horses bulk broke up the wall of water more than just one would have; the pressure was lessened, only hitting them hardest around the flanks and hindquarters. 

"I'll…listen….next time…" Dean choked out. Celia nodded; wrapping Honeycatcher's reined tightly around Blackbird's saddle horn over the back of the griffon kitten.

"C'mon, we have got to get…out of the water. SANUYE! BACK!" She yelled the last over the rushing water. She wrapped one arm tightly around Dean's torso and pulled him up, lightening up the load on the exhausted cremello stud. Both horses gasping for air over the freezing water slung their heads as far forward as they could; stiffly and slowly took the first few waterlogged steps towards the bank. Sanuye and Sam crawling backwards, hauling on the lifeline. 

The progress was slow, exhausting, like walking through chest deep wet cement, the animals puffed and their hooves slipped and skidded on the twisting riverbed but the black water only snarled and roared around them, unable to catch a hold of the group. Their hooves slid, steps steadying and solidifying as the water level dropped down from their necks and chests to their bellies, then legs. A final lurch and gasp from the two horses and the buckskin and cremello stumbled onto the safety and solidity of terra firma. 

The cremello collapsed instantly, gasping for air. Honeycatcher let out a sickly groan, rolled on his side, stretched his neck out and coughed, closing his eyes and letting the heat of the risen sun and moon break the chilling hold of the black river.

Blackbird stood shivering violently, legs shaking before taking a single shivering step forward and with a groan and gasp crashed down onto his side, stretching out like Honeycatcher. The griffon kitten chirped weakly at being pushed out of the way and Celia shoved up on Blackbird to get out from under the horse before turning her attention to stripping the saddle off. 

Dean crawled stiffly a step away from the cremello trying to push himself up to a sitting position, coughing up black water and blood. He was hurt somewhere deep but the pain was so complete he couldn't tell where it came from. 

"Dean!"

Green eyes drifted up blearily as Sanuye stumbled forward, tripping over the slack latigo rope. She nickered and jumped when Sam practically threw himself out of the saddle, hitting the group awkwardly and crashing onto his hands and knees before rushing towards his brother. Dean didn't have time to brace before Sam practically slammed into him and wrapped long arms tightly around Dean's shoulders and neck. 

"Easy." Dean rasped out, pain flaring up everywhere.

"Thank God" Sam choked, ignoring Dean's weak attempts to break the embrace. "Dean."

"Sam…please…" Dean groaned, "…I'll hug you later…"

Dean lifting a hand and gently pushing back on his brother's chest until the younger Winchester sat back but kept a firm hand on Dean's shoulder as he eased down to sit stiffly on his hip. Sam shivered and twitched nervously at the grimaces of pain across his brother's face. 

"I need to lie down." Dean rasped out, already shifting himself backwards until he was lying on his back, taking all the help from Sam he could. Dean's eyes stayed shut for what felt like several hours before tiredly opening again. The elder Winchester twisted his head towards the two collapsed horses. Sanuye was standing protectively over Blackbird, the buckskin had rolled onto his stomach, legs tucked under his body and lifted out of the dirt. Celia was rubbing her hands soothingly over Honeycatcher's shoulder, speaking softly to the large stud. 

Dean's arm felt like stone as he lifted it and reached to brush his fingers across the heaving nostrils of the cremello. Glazed blue eyes flickered open and rolled to look at him. 

"Good boy…take it easy, 'Catcher. You're my buddy…" Dean muttered. The cremello gave a sickly, congested nicker that sounded more like a groan. Dean shifted over to twist and lightly rub his hand over the studs muzzle and dipped into the hallow of his nostril, his finger tips came away covered in blood.

Dean rubbed the liquid between his fingers before returning to petting Honeycatcher's muzzle.

"Did real good….easy big guy…" Dean muttered.

* * *

**Aw, poor 'Catcher…**


	35. Bad Medicine

\**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Five: Bad Medicine**

**"I knew a witch docor that laid his hand on a child once, just once. And that child cramped up, fell on the ground and spit up bees until she died..."**

**- _The Missing_**

…

"How is he?"

Celia sighed heavily and rubbed her bare forearm across her eyes and forehead. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Cracked ribs, maybe broken….his winds broken, he can't breathe properly…swallowed a lot of that foul water. All kinds of bruises and little cuts everywhere, totally exhausted….and bleedin' from the inside is never good…pneumonia can set in in a hurry, too…"

"Will he be alright?" Sam twitched his eyes nervously to Celia's face. Her red eyes flashed to his doe like gaze, Sam chewed on his bottom lip and looked hopeful. Damn the kid sure as hell was a bleeding heart.

"He needs a professional…if he can take the climb back out of this Hell hole." Celia growled softly. She sighed heavily and felt her own heart sinking slowly down into her gut. She had to be truthful, even if it wasn't the truth she herself wanted.

"If we can get to a doctor…then he'll be fine, right?"

Celia practically glared at Sam, why the hell was he doing this to her! It wasn't fair, since when did she have a little brother that needed things sugarcoated.

"Maybe." Celia said with pure finality.

Honeycatcher gave a violent, heaving cough, then dropped back into the sickly wheezing noise of air weakly passing over the wrong chords in his throat and chest.

"Looks like he split a hoof, too…" Celia gently lifted the right fore hoof, the frog and horn of the hoof was cracked open, deep enough for blood to bubble up and start to spill out over the out and under sides. Honeycatcher's eyes snapped open and he lurched up, swinging his head around and letting out a squeal of pain, snapping his teeth at her before letting our a pained groan and dropping back onto his side.

"Quit hurting him!"

Celia glared around as where Dean sat shivering and wrapped up in the blanket that had been packed to Sanuye's saddle, the only dry one of the two kits that were ever tied down to the western saddles.

"Dean. Shut up. He's my stud and trust me, I'm tryin' to help him not hurt him." Celia snapped short temperedly.

Dean hunched into his blanket and shivered harder. "Still hurting him…"

"Well I can't help it now can I!"

"Guys!"

Sam's voice snapped the tension and Honeycatcher's gut wrenching cough, the sound of air sucking in his chest instilled the peace. Sanyue and Blackbird stayed where they were. The buckskin gave a grunt before suddenly lurching back up to his feet for the first time, shoving the saddle away from him in the motion and giving himself a shake. His strength seemed to be bleeding back into his limbs. Blackbird nickered before stiffly stepping over and dropping his nose to brush nostrils with Honeycatcher.

The cremello seemed to whimper and twisted his head a little to touch noses.

"Damnit…"

"What?"

Celia ignored him. Sam flashed his eyes to where Dean was, then back to the red eyed rancher.

"What?"

"What is it, Celia?" Dean growled.

"Should do the right thing and just shoot him right here."

Both brothers went totally rigid, jaws locked and staring at her in shock.

"No." Dean growled.

"Not much of yer choice Winchester!" Celia barked, bristling like a wolf and baring her teeth at him. Her wet hair swinging to slap across her face. "He ain't yer horse! Ya think I honestly want to slaughter my own stud!? I wish it was me instead of him! Got it!?"

Dean went silent, his green eyes dropping from the red ones flashing at him. Sam stayed silent and didn't meet Celia's gaze as she turned her attention back to the younger brother and the cremello horse.

"His shoe is pretty much keeping it from blossomin' right now. If I had a kit I could nail the walls back together and epoxy it until it grows back together and he sees the doc."

Sam's eyes stayed on the stud until Celia suddenly sat back, her hand lifting off the cremello's shoulder for the first time and it threaded into her hair line.

She let out a cracked and shaky breath and she sniffed heavily, loudly and Sam's eyes snapped up to look at her, his eyes locking on the tears collecting at the corners of her eyes.

"He'll always be lame…" She rasped, almost choking on the words. She swallowed thickly and coughed once, quickly collecting herself again.

Sam waited for a second before casting his eyes briefly to his brother then back to Celia.

"What can we do?"

"I can't tell how deep the split is. If it's not that deep…" She shook her head a little, "And the climb out of the pass….got to keep him off it somehow…"

Sam stayed quiet, shivering once when a sharp breeze cut through the canyon and brushed over his back and neck.

"Get him up."

Sam's head snapped up. "What?"

"Get a hold of those reins and lead and get him up." Celia ordered, pushing herself up and into movement. Sam watched her distractedly before he pushed himself up and moved to Honeycatcher's head. Dean snagged the reins and the lead rope and tugged urgently. Sam whistled and tugged gently.

Honeycatcher eyed him and snorted loudly until he felt a sharp slap across his flank. With an annoyed and pained groan and snort the horse rolled up onto his belly and folded his legs under him. Honeycatcher jerked back from Sam, pinning his ears and snorting.

"Get him up, Sam!" Celia barked.

Sam choked up his hold right under the bit and chin and jerked sharply. The cremello snorted and scrambled, his legs shaking under him and hooves scraping across the stone and earth. Sam yanked, mentally apologizing to the horse and jerked his weight against the horse.

Celia dug her arms up under Honeycatcher's right hind flank and hauled upwards, successfully getting kicked in the shoulder and side.

Honeycatcher squealed and scrambled, with Celia's push hauled his bulk upright, kicking Celia once more in the stomach before standing awkwardly on three legs, his right hind lifted up towards his stomach and kicking in the air, when he hobbled forward a step towards Sam. The younger Winchester pitched backwards, loosing his balance and falling hard on his butt and tailbone. Sam instinctively scrambled back a step away from the looming mass of the horse.

Honeycacther let out a pained and sickly groan, his earns pinned back and head low.

"Sammy, get the lead off Blackbird's halter and bring it here." Celia ordered. Her voice came out cracked and a wheeze from the kick to the gut. Sam pushed himself up, rushed over to the buckskin and unsnapped the blue, nylon lead rope and quickly carried it over to set in Celia's waiting hand. She took the rope and nodded Sam back towards the horse's head.

"Hold on to him, he's gonna lurch here in a second." Celia growled, quickly tying a slip knot in the long lead and in a smooth move slipped the loop over Honeycatcher's split hoof. The stud jerked but didn't move far, his head suddenly snapping up and ears pinning back. Sam just gripped the reins and lead rope tightly and grit his teeth, bracing for the horse to rear into him.

Celia tossed one half of the lead from the slip knot across the stud's back. The length of the lead hanging well passed the stud's gut.

"Hang tight, Sam." Celia warned and reached under Honeycatcher to snag the lead and with a deep breath pulled, dragging the rope across Honeycatcher's back and hauling his injured leg up.

The stud lurched forward and snorted sharply, Sam's sharp jerk of the lead and reins stopped the horse cold in his instinctive retreat from the predator like actions going on around his split hoof and hind quarters.

Celia soothingly patted the horse's sides and stomach, letting him calm before quickly finishing off the makeshift sling. The lead tied tightly around Honeycatcher's barrel and pinned his right hind leg up under his gut.

"Take him forward a step, Sammy."

Sam nodded and gently tugged the reins and lead forward. Honeycatcher jerked his head back and snorted, clearly saying 'no'. Sam sighed and made a soft kissing noise and tugged again, putting more weight and pressure into the lead and reins. Honeycatcher's fore hooves moved forward correctly if not shakily. His left hind hopped and lurched forward at a weird hobbling jerk. His right hind kicking in the natural muscle movements to walk tried to take place.

"Another. Two in a row." Celia ordered.

Sam eased Honeycatcher forward, the steps seemed a little more strained and the cremello snorted loudly in pure annoyance at being forced to move when instinct was telling him to hold still. But the makeshift sling stayed in place, keeping his hoof suspended.

"Maybe…" Celia muttered, her eyes moving to the cliff face, experienced vision picking out the dangerous and narrow progress of a winding path up the canyon walls and onto level earth again.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, the elder Winchester shivered and flinched as pain flashed up his torso, neither spoke, waiting for Celia's judgment. She sighed loudly and cleared her throat. Even the three horses seemed to stiffen, waiting.

"One try…he makes up or gets a bullet…no more sufferin' than that."

Dean's eyes flashed from the shivering cremello and back to catch Celia's blood colored pools.

"He falls and I put him down." She said with finality and absolutely no room for argument. Dean's gut twisted, unsettled and nervous. Part of him fought desperately to convince himself that Celia would do everything in her power to make sure that Honeycatcher had plenty of time to make it up and out of the pass and another part of him knew for a fact that Celia would put a bullet in the horse if it came to it. Dean nodded and Celia's eyes left his face and she nodded grimly before moving back into action, in a few short moves she hauled the stripped saddle back up onto Blackbird's back, buckled the cinch and clipped the breast collar into place.

"Ya boys flank him and I'll walk behind. Let's get out of this pass before those wolves get their sand back." Celia stepped over to the still muzzled griffon kitten and hauled the animal up. It croaked up happily before Celia settled it over buckskin's shoulders.

"Dean, Blackbird. Now." Celia ordered. The elder Winchester heaved a deep breath before steeling himself and shoving himself up and forwards, shivering when his still soaked clothes slapped across his skin and injuries. With some difficulty and a little shove from Celia he managed to slide his bruised and aching body into the saddle seat and gripped the reins in his stiff hands. Sam released the lead rope and Honeycatcher's halter to Celia and mounted back up on Sanuye at the rancher's command. Celia eased Honeycatcher up between them, tying the lead rope to Sam's saddle horn and looping the reins of Honeycatcher's bit and bridle around Dean's hand.

"Follow that narrow trail." She motioned towards the faint outline in the canyon wall. "Stay a breast as long as ya can. Sam keep his leg up."

"I'll do my best." Sam assured her.

"Dean, keep that kitten in the saddle and tug that bit when he fusses, slow but don't let him stop momentum."

Dean nodded, forcing his jaw to lock to keep from flinching and letting his teeth chatter in the chill that was setting into his skin.

"Forward on then." Celia said softy, lifting the .50 AE Desert Eagle off the ground and slipping it between the skin of her back and her jeans waist band, then lifted the leather belt and holsters with the remaining Colt made six shooter buckled into place.

"I'm sorry I lost the other one." Dean chattered quietly. He'd lost track of the other six shooter when he'd fallen into the river.

"I'd rather have ya than the gun, Dean." Celia assured. "Better it into the underground than ya." Celia motioned towards the yawning cavern where the black river poured down into the underground again.

"It didn't fall in the water. Dean dropped it on the bank. Here." Sam reached around to his back and slid the missing six shooter free and handed it to Celia, "Grabbed it before the run."

While Dean had no doubt about the words Celia had said about preferring to lose the gun than him, but the small spark of relief that flashed in Celia's eyes as she accepted the gun from Sam made it clear that the return of the firearm was a small bubble of relief on her strain.

"Thanks, Sammy." Celia said and slid the six shooter back into its holster and clicked the buckle into place. Celia draped the belt and holsters over her shoulder.

"You're not riding?" Dean asked, one hand absently resting on the side of the griffon kitten.

"Walkin' lets move." Celia motioned the brother's on ward and waited until Sanuye and Blackbird stepped forward and the brother's coaxed Honeycatcher forward. The cremello groaned and made a sickly noise before following stiffly and slowly at the ugly hobbling step. The Winchesters tried to keep their eyes on everything around them, the cremello hobbling between their horses, the canyon walls, the uncertain path and Celia walking stiffly behind the party.

Tension ran high and everyone knew the importance of the practical crawl along the canyon path back up to ground level. When the trail narrowed Sanuye pulled a head, tugging and easing Honeycatcher in behind her and Blackbird feel back to walk behind the hobbled stud a head of him. The path wasn't wide enough fro two horses but there was room for Celia to walk next to Dean and the buckskin. A few timed Honeycatcher jerked back, acting as if he would slide back onto his butt. Blackbird and Celia would both push forward, bracing against the stud until the cremello struggled forward again. The climb was rough and terrifying with the possibility of having to lay Honeycatcher down at Celia's command to end his life, it didn't help that both brothers had a deep seeded feeling of being watched making their skin prickle.

To top it off, halfway up the griffon kitten pitched a fit and proceeded to inadvertently cause Dean to pop several more stitches. Being washed down the river and battered by the black water had ripped open most of his lacerations, the whole slow an careful job that Sam and Celia had finished would have to be re-done.

Dean was starting to feel dizzy with the loss of blood, thinning air and pure exhaustion. That and added to the sympathy pain he felt for Honeycatcher he was beginning to make a mantra out of telling himself that he was going to collapse and pass out once over the cliff drop and back on seal level land. He barely registered when Honeycatcher stumbled and started to fall down to his belly and Celia rushed forward to pretty much put herself between the cremello and the ground. Waiting for the stud to get his feet back under him, chest heaving and breath wheezing over his vocal cords, with Celia acting as his fourth leg.

Dean snapped out of his bleary eyed trance, listening to Celia coax and encourage the cremello horse, letting him take a rest before easing him on.

Dean relaxed a little and waited with Sanuye pressed in close to Celia's back while she struggled with the stud. Dean reached down and rested a hand heavily on her shoulder, stretching across the saddle and biting back his own pain. Dean willed all his excess strength through the contact to Celia and through her to Honeycatcher. The horse nickered softly under his breath and firmly set his hooves on the rocky path.

Sam waited until Celia nodded towards him then tugged on the lead rope, dragging the cremello back into movement. The horse lurched forward the last few yards up the narrow path and nearly collapsed on flat earth. Celia again stepping in to support him on one flank, and now on sea level Sanuye and Blackbird could press into the stud's sides for added support.

"Sam, ride a head and get the air ride. I'm not makin' him walk anymore." Celia ordered. Sam swiftly loosed the lead rope from his saddle horn, forced Sanuye away and broke into a stiff gallop along side the canyon drop off.

Dean glanced at his watch and muttered a curse under his breath.

"What?" Celia asked, gently running her hand over the sweat slicked side and fur of Honeycatcher's heaving barrel.

"You were right; you were out of that canyon in an hour. It's only four thirty in the morning." Dean mumbled, His words were a little slurred. Celia's eyes flashed over him at the sloppy speech and his heavy lidded eyes.

"Ya need a transfusion bad." She sighed and tugged at her slowly drying clothes. Her plunge into the river had stripped a lot of the blood and dust caked onto her clothes.

Dean snorted. "I'll be fine…" He slurred.

Celia rolled her eyes and started to speak but turned her attention back to the cremello horse when Honeycatcher jerked sharply and groaned in pain.

"Easy, 'Catcher. Hold tight…"

…

Dean was too exhausted and light headed to flinch or jerk while Sam stitched his side back together again. He was all but limp, back in the truck bed and head turned slack onto its side watching a little bleary eyed as Celia used a thick latigo tied to Sanuye's saddle and across her chest was looped around the rear hocks of one unconscious griffon at a time. The painted mare's legs and hooves would dance in place nervously at being to close to an unnatural predator and she jumped nervously into the rope and dragged each griffon to the red stock trailer and Celia finished up making use of her demonic strength and rolled each griffon the rest of the way into the trailer. She even hesitated to give each griffon a small, supplement dose of the tranquilizer before repeating the process. She drugged and settled the griffon kitten into the stock trailer last before swinging the door into place and locking it.

Dean twisted his head, scraping his temple and cheek along the metal of the truck bed to follow her actions with his eyes as Celia, untacked the painted mare and lead her up into the trailer were the sore footed Blackbird and the lame Honeycatcher were already loaded up. Celia returned to heave the tack into the back seat of the Explorer. Dean jerked and tensed sharply when she stumbled mid-stride. Dean's eyes locked in the flash of pain across her face while she caught herself and the way she masked it.

"Sorry."

Sam's voice snapped into Dean's fogged mind and he twisted to look at his younger brother. Sam must have through that he'd hit a nerve in his stitches when Dean jerked. The elder Winchester twisted back towards Celia and ground his jaw together when he saw she was out of his sight. Dean twisted his head around to awkward and painful angles trying to see around.

"Dean, stop moving." Sam growled, a little frustrated at Dean's jerking.

"Where'd she go?"

Sam sighed heavily. Where ever this paranoia about Celia just disappearing into a puff of smoke it was singled minded. Sam had to under go a pretty thorough once over from his older brother and several different assurances and one small argument about Dean having been the one to take the ride down the river.

Sam figured it was only because he was touching Dean and was close enough to be touched that his elder brother finally settled. Sam had noticed over the years that the only way Dean had reassured himself about the solidity of the people he cared about or he was trying to save was if he was able to make and keep physical contact. Dean wasn't the 'touchy-feely' type but he needed to be able to feel the heat coming off your body. Every time Sam had come within the grasp of death Dean had rushed to make contact.

Dean hadn't touched Celia since before they made it out of Blackwater Pass and back onto sea level earth. She'd been just out of his grasp and Sam couldn't help but notice the air headed way Dean kept his eyes on her while she moved and worked. It didn't bother Sam so much as give him a small chance to relax. With Dean all but completely distracted Sam could really inspect the damage done to him.

And it was bad.

"Where is she?" Dean growled and started to roll over. Sam shoved his shoulder back down and for one of the few times in his life easily over powered his elder brother and pinned him down onto his back.

"Red." Sam called. There was a loud frustrated sigh from the somewhere near the passenger side door. Sam quirked an eyebrow, a little curious and leaned up and forward to peer around the side of the truck. There was a sound of wet fabric slapping to the ground.

"Red?"

"Give a girl a second." She barked and limped heavily out of the shadow of the open passenger door. Sam blinked as she was struggling with a dark brown tee shirt. In the few seconds that she had been out of sight Celia had stripped out of her blood and black water soaked clothes, slipping into a fresh set of jeans and evidently underwear as the bra she was walking towards the bed in was bleached white against her tawny torso. Sam kept his jaw locked at the thought that only five feet away a few seconds ago Celia had probably been buck naked. Sam's eyes flashed to the tribal crow and otter tattooed to her chest and they roved to her back and the Circle of Solomon carved into her skin.

Sam also couldn't help noticing the fresh abrasions and quickly healing over cuts on the skin of her arms and torso, several particularly large welts across her sides and abdomen looked plainly like the hoof marks left over by Honeycatcher. The discoloration oddly matched the blossom of bruising across the side of her face and throat. Celia was starting to look more and more like a Picasso. She winced and stiffly pulled the brown shirt over her head and tugged it down around her hips.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Ya tired of knittin' yer brother together?"

"Yeah." Sam muttered and shook out his stiff hand. It helped the Dean had suddenly stopped putting up a fuss and relaxed at the sight of Celia. "My back and hand really hurt, could you take over, it's done really but-"

"Sure Sammy. If ya feel like ya want some clothes that duffle in the back has a pair of jeans and a tee for ya." Celia said and stiffly hauled herself up into the truck bed as Sam slid down to the earth.

"You packed my clothes?"

"Naw, just a set in case this sort of thing happened." Celia waved him off and scooted over towards Dean, sitting down close to his hip. "And there's some for Dean, too. Don't get mixed up, yer legs are longer."

Sam only grunted and moved as quickly as he could without causing himself any kind of true pain towards the prospect of clean dry clothes, not only for himself but for Dean.

The younger brother was beginning to feel a little nervous about Dean's condition. His brother's skin was cold to the touch and his color was starting to pale. If he could have Sam was sure that Dean would be coughing and sneezing. But the only air that passed over Dean's lungs was in thin wheezes. Not to mention that his blood was thin and his sugar low.

He needed a hospital.

Sam shook himself and went about stripping out of his filthy and blood stained clothes and changing into the set that Celia had been thoughtful enough to bring for him.

"Celia." Dean rasped out.

Her head snapped around to look at him as Dean tiredly lifted a shivering hand and wrapped his fingers into the fabric of her shirt near her hip. Tugging, almost childlike, at the fabric and her weight.

"Damnit Dean, ya look like Hell. Ya need a hospital." Celia moved towards the tug, practically pressing into his side.

Dean shook his head a little and sniffed loudly. Lifting his other hand to rub it across his nose. Celia let a sarcastic chuckle escape her throat.

"Yeah ya do." She reached over and lightly ran her fingers through his hair, brushing her hand over the pale skin of his brow. Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he floated towards unconsciousness at the sensation. Dragging himself back when Celia's hand stopped moving. His eyes felt like they were full of sand but forced them open and tightened his grip on her shirt.

"Here."

Dean twisted his hand to look at Sam. The younger Winchester was sporting a clean red shirt and faded but fitting blue jeans, he held out a bundle of fabric towards Celia. She accepted it and nodded Sam away again. Sam hesitated and looked at her with concern.

"Sam, why don't ya go lay down a bit in the truck." Celia suggested gently. Sam looked nervously between Dean and her, then broke off and stepped away. Celia waited for second before extracting herself from Dean's grip and carefully helped him to ease up to a sitting position.

Dean shrugged off the destroyed flannel shirt and stat still while Celia carefully and gently patted his skin dry with a fresh white towel from the tool box. The restitched lacerations running up and down Dean's torso made him look like a badly put together doll. His skin was enflamed and swollen and it was without a doubt going to scar.

"Dean, ya always were real handsome-"

Dean grinned tiredly at the comment.

"-watchin' ya scar up yer hide." She shook her head and tisked under her breath. "It's a damn shame."

Dean bit out a broken laugh, accepting the offered black tee shirt from her and gingerly pulling it over his head and pushing his arms through it. Celia finished the job of tugging it down around his waist. Dean started to shiver a little. The dry clothes felt colder and more bitter against his flesh than the blood and river soaked flannel had been.

"Whoa, easy." Celia nudged passed him and moved to the tool box, she easily pulled out a folded, blue emergency blanket, she moved back and wrapped it tightly around Dean's shoulders and tucked it in around his throat. Dean couldn't help it as his shaking continued. He licked his lips thickly and tried to clear his throat.

Celia's fingers moved to the underside of Dean's jaw, pressing up into his skin. It was typically a danger zone for Hunters, instinctively Dean jerked a little at the touch but within a few seconds leaned the weight of his head into her touch. Her hand roved upward, running up the side of his face and resting briefly on his temple.

"Shit." She muttered before Dean felt her fingers on his lips. Then her hands rested on either side of his jaw giving his head a little shake. "Dean, open yer eyes and look at me."

Dean forced his eyes open, his vision was blurry for a few long seconds before it cleared and focused on her.

"Dean, I think yer settin' in with pneumonia, yer chilled all over."

Dean cleared his throat, his teeth started to chatter together.

"Alright, first of all, let's get ya into these jeans." The sudden urgency in Celia's movements and orders made Dean snap into action as much as he could, his didn't put up much of a struggle as Celia relieved him of his water logged boots, socks and jeans. He fidgeted when she started for his boxers.

"Dean, it ain't nothin' I haven't seen before and ya cain't stay in any wet clothes." Celia scolded and practically knocked him off balance trying to get at his underwear again.

"Alright! Alright." Dean croaked, glaring at her as best as he could. He waved her off. "I'll do it."

Celia rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose, muttering under her breath about men and modesty as Dean readjusted the emergency blanket to drape down from his shoulders to around his knees like an over large poncho. Celia tapped her boot on the earth for a few long seconds while Dean used the dropped tailgate for support and stripped out of the boxers and accepted the dry jeans and pulled them up.

"Alright." Celia sighed as Dean straightened and smoothed himself out. The red head rancher stepped in to re-wrap the blanket around his frame tucking it in tightly around him.

"Look, I'm goin' to take the horses into the vet-"

"You'll get the Impala?" Dean rasped.

"No, I was goin' to have ya go with me and ya are going into the Doc's office."

"No doctors." Dean growled, narrowing his eyes. "Take the horses and get the Impala." Dean carefully bent and extracted the keys from his soaked jeans and passed them to her. Celia palmed the keys but grabbed his arm and hauled him back around as gently as she could and forced him to look at her.

"Dean, no. Yer goin' to the Doc's and yer stayin' there."

"We've got to finish this Hunt off-"

"Damnit Dean! I don't care 'bout this goddamn Hunt if ya and my stud are hurtin' like this. After everythin' we did, I'd rather walk into that trailer with a full clip and shoot every one of those damned things in the head, leave 'em for the scavengers and stay here with ya, Sammy and 'Catcher healin' up."

"Don't start a Hunt you can't finish." Dean muttered and sniffed heavily, his voice barely a croak in his throat.

"Dean." Celia snapped ill temperedly and grinding her teeth loudly. "This ain't some bullshit little cold, this is getting' towards pneumonia, alright? Pneumonia in the desert, with the air as dry as it is. It can kill ya faster than a rattler's bite. I'm not riskin' yer life over a pride of griffons."

"I don't want to see Doc." Dean snapped, his voice clearing up and his eyes sharpening, everything about his demeanor hardened and locked up. "We get into the Rockies, dump 'em like Sammy said and then I'll come back and see Doc."

"Dean, I can't say ya'll live that long." Celia snapped.

"I've got nothing to worry about."

"What the hell makes ya think that?!"

"Sam and you."

Celia jerked as if he'd slapped her. And Dean gave her a small reassuring smile.

"I'll be fine with you two around."

Celia stared at him and forced herself to go against all her instincts and knowledge. "Stupid, self-sacrificing Winchesters. Move."

She tugged his arm and properly dragged Dean round the truck, his aching bare feet scuffing the rocky earth. Celia practically threw him into the passenger seat. Sam jumped from his doze in the back seat as Celia leaned passed Dean to crank on the engine of the truck, turn the dials on the console until the vents poured out pure heat. She reached into the back seat, still practically draped across Dean's lap and tugged free an over large, brown hoodie and a small woven blanket. Celia gave them both to Dean. The elder Winchester struggled for a second to get the hoodie over his head and his arms through the sleeves; he didn't have much time to breathe before Celia piled the emergency blanket then the woven one back around his frame.

"Dean, don't move, got it? Ya don't move."

"Why?"

"I figure I need to get ya warmed up, even better if I can sweat it out of ya. I need to take care of my horses since yer too stubborn to listen to me." Celia growled the last part of the sentence and started too pulled back out of the doorway of the cab.

"What about the griffons?"

"That drug keeps a horse down for several hours, it's used in surgeries. They'll stay down for a while before they need to be dosed again."

"Thanks." Dean managed and received a small nod in return before she snapped the door shut.

"Everything alright?' Sam asked, sitting up in the backseat and scooting towards Dean.

"Probably not." Dean croaked truthfully.

…

"Doc Strain!" Celia practically screamed the instant she climbed out of the Explorer and raced for the vet stable. "Doc!

The double doors slid open suddenly, she must have just caught him as he stepped into the barn to start working on the stable patients.

"Red? What's the matter?"

"Honeycatcher. He's in a bad way" Celia halted as he started and whirled around she sprinted to the horse trailer, hauled it open and roughly yanked Sanuye down off the trailer and swung the barrier back to where Honeycatcher was carefully balancing on three hooves and wheezing loudly and bleeding out his nostrils.

"Jesus! What happened?!" Doctor Strain barked and rushed up the ramp to get to the cremello horse.

"Blackwater Pass." Celia pressed in close to Strain as he started to carefully inspect the split hoof.

"Damnit girl, yer lucky to be alive! Ya know that place is damned to Hell."

"I think pneumonia is settin' in too." Celia said it almost pleadingly.

"Set. Not settin'." Strain corrected and rested his hand on Honeycatcher's heaving sides. Feeling and listening to the congested gasps the horse made. On the other side of the second barrier Blackbird pinned his ears back and nickered softly trying to keep the cremello calm next to him.

Honeycatcher groaned and gave a littler jerk of his hoof when Strain twisted his leg around to see the under side of the hoof better.

"I need him in the soft room, now." Strain started to move rapidly to ease Honeycatcher out of place and back up towards the ramp and out of the trailer. Celia snapped into action to help.

"He needs surgery?" She croaked out nervously.

"Unless ya want an amputee." Strain growled. Celia snapped her mouth shut and helped guide Honeycatcher backward and out onto the earth. It was a struggle; the horse didn't want to move. The whole time Snauye was trotting nervously in place and followed on their heels. It was even more coaxing and shoving until the cremello hobbled into the shadow of the barn and down to a specialized stall towards the end where the entire room was coated and padded with a thick layer of soft, sanitary material. Hanging from the ceiling was a harness and steel frame that would hold a horse up in the air. There was a padded barrier used to pin a horse up against the padded wall during euthanasia or sedation until they collapsed safely and a large square was cut out of the floor that with a horse laid on it would lift directly out of the floor to make an easy access surgery table.

Strain was on his cell phone, calling in his associate vet and several different techs for help, but it was unspoken that for the time being that Celia was his second.

"Doc, should I stay?" She asked nervously.

The way that it was spoken it sounded like if she was asking if she needed to call a renderer to come haul the cremello's carcass away. She was asking if Honeycatcher was going to need euthanasia.

Strain glanced at her and listened to the sound of the horse gasping for air and watching his skin twitch and jerk and blood trickle up and out of the horse's nose.

"Steven, do I need to stay?" Celia asked again.

"Probably." Strain returned with a pained sigh.

* * *

**Yay! I mean no! Dean and Honeycatcher are just getting some major whumpage right now... **

**Place advertisement for Hunters and Rangers here!! So my beta Sierra Nichole and I started and are co-writing a crossover fic between _Supernatural_ and her favorite fandom: _Power Rangers:Time Force _called "Hunters and Rangers". Celia does appear and there are evil mutants and vampires and all kinds of stuff it's good! But of course I am NOT going to neglect "Like Us!" But Check out Hunters and Rangers on my profile page and leave a review!**


	36. Separation Anxiety

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

* * *

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Six: Separation Anxiety **

"**Do not measure your loss by itself; if you do, it will seem intolerable; but if you will take all human affairs into account you will find that some comfort is to be derived from them.****"**

**- Saint Basil **

…

_The desert stretched on for miles of low scrub and red earth, small and large boulders; far off the ridges and folds of mountains. The sky above was pale blue, clouds of grays, blacks and white promised some kind of storm. They drifted along lazily but if he watched they lurched for a few seconds, speeding a head in time before settling again. Dean shivered and staying as still as he could in the wind that tore at him. He felt the ragged fabric of his jeans shifting across his legs; the wind snapped the lighter cloth of an open flannel shirt across his bare chest. _

_No pain._

_Dean looked down at his chest and side, he crinkled his nose and lifted his hand and grazed it over where there were supposed to be swollen flesh and the countless ridges of stitches keeping him together. The skin was smooth, where he had expected scars to be there were black tribal designs painted onto his torso. Dean pressed his fingers into the ink and rubbed, it stayed in place as if it had been tattooed into place. Dean traced the design, following curls and curves across his stomach and up his ribcage. Touching painted circles, dots and stripes and little painted symbols woven in with the shapes. Little stick figures that looked like they belonged on a rock wall, not his skin. Dean traced his fingers over the shape of a man, then a horse, the tiny wings of a crow and a beaver's back and tail. He studied the curve of an otter's body and finally moved his eyes to a symbol that could have been a wolf or a dog. _

_He knew it was a coyote._

_Dean sniffed, pulling his eyes away from the black marks, but his hand continued to travel from the base of the paint at his pelvis up his torso to practically his arm pit. _

_Dean twisted looking around the desert, feeling the wind snap at his face and bare skin. The boots on his feet crunched in the rocky earth when he stiffly turned in a circle, swallowing repeatedly to wet his throat and prepare to call out to the land._

_He stilled his voice and locked his jaw._

"_Not again." Dean growled and took a reactive step backwards. _

_The brown and white painted horse cocked his ears forward and lifted his head, bright blue eyes locked on Dean. When the elder Winchester stepped back the mustang stepped forward. Dean retreated another two steps and was perused. Dean stopped and the Chieftain did the same._

_Dean rolled back onto his heels and set his weight low, tensing. He felt the quickly rising heat around him snap for a second then return as a shadow passed over his face. Dean's eyes flashed to the black feathers and wings of the Crow that landed lightly on the Chieftain's shoulder._

_The horse snorted loudly and the Crow's eyes snapped to Dean and it croaked._

_**We need to speak…**_

"_She told me that you two were gods." Dean called back over the wind. "I don't talk to gods."_

_The horse's nostrils flared open and his ears pinned back._

_**You know us?**__ The Crow ruffled her feathers and clicked her beak. _

"_Yeah. Yeah I know you." Dean said, shifting and instinctively hugging an arm across his torso and dug his fingers into the painted symbols. "The Horse Chieftain and Crow. _Real_ gods. The big guns."_

_He shifted in place; the heat was quickly becoming unbearable. Sweat trickled down his skin, settling in the hollow of his collar bone before spilling down his bare chest. Dean felt his muscles and skin twitching and shifting. He was shivering. _

_**Chieftain wants to speak with Ahote…**_

"_Can't he speak from himself?!" Dean barked, his voice cracked on the last words and he doubled over, coughing heavily. _

_**Chieftain does not speak-**_

"_To anyone or just me!?" Dean couldn't help the feeling of panic and anger bubbling up into his throat. He knew somewhere in his gut and soul that the Chieftain had done something to him, he felt it. And he hated the damn mustang for it. He didn't care what it was. _

_That horse had cheated him. _

"_I'm not talking to you!" _

_Dean stumbled when he turned and launched himself into a run. He staggered into a rhythm, his boots slamming into the baked and rocky earth. Dean pushed himself, he was already winded and the heat was choking him, but he ran with every ounce of strength and speed he had, feeling every muscle in his body burning and his breath was short and strangled. He wasn't near fast enough._

_The Chieftain pinned his ears back and snarled. The Crow croaked and leapt into the air as the mustang lunged forward. The animal closed the distance in a few short galloped strides. The mustang's hooves slashed into the earth and ripped clay and rock up behind him. Dean didn't even try to serpentine, he just pushed his speed until he felt like collapsing. The Chieftain leaped a head of him, cutting off his path and twisting to face him. Dean reeled back, toppling backwards to get away from the Chieftain rearing up in front of him; ears pinned back and fore hooves swinging at him. _

_As he hit the dirt Dean's head snapped back and slammed hard into the rock hard earth. _

Green eyes snapped open. He heaved a breath into suffocating lungs and shoved at the weight crushing in around him. He needed to get the damned horse off him.

"Whoa, easy Dean. Stop it."

The elder Winchester froze at the south western drawl. It took a second for that voice to register and allow him to relax, before his heart lurched back into an erratic rush. He felt smothered, the heat trying to swallow him. Dean shoved again at the weight on his chest. Pain flared up his side and across the back of his skull. The heat was trying to strangle him; Dean bit passed the pain and shoved harder.

"Dean! Stop it!" Celia barked from next to him. All his effort thwarted to get away from the heat as it was sharply shoved back into place. Dean shivered and panted at the heat before pushing again, fighting to get away.

"Dean!"

He froze when a small but unnaturally strong hand practically scruffed him. Her fingers dug into the over heated skin of his neck and tangled in his hair. Like a trapped animal Dean arched his neck and back away from the hand, his eyes blearily registering the blurred colors of the truck cab and the terrain outside the glass. Dean hissed and grit his teeth. Her hand and fingers were ice cold on his skin. His heart thundered in his chest and for a second he thought to lash out.

Then her fingers shifted and it rolled the taught muscle of his neck in just the right way that it settled his churning gut and crashing heart.

"Ya gonna calm down so I can turn ya loose?"

Dean didn't answer; he just slumped down into his seat and went still with the feeling of that rope of muscle gripped perfectly in her hand. The grip relaxed and soothingly drifted up to scratch his head for a second before falling away completely. Dean heaved a shaky sigh and felt his teeth chattering, though he was far from cold. The stifling heat was still trying to choke him.

"I'm hot." The elder Winchester croaked.

"Yer goin' to have to suck it up Dean, ya got a chill, not a fever."

Dean's green eyes twitched towards her voice, his vision was blurred and slowly clearing at the edges. He could make out Celia in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other itching at her thigh and ready to reach out to him. Dean registered slowly that he was still in the truck and that the Silverado was moving.

"What…happened...my head…" Pain flooded back into his skull and side.

"Went a little to fast over a bump and ya made contact with the head rest there, Dean. Ya alright?

Dean heard the crackle of concern in her voice.

"What did I do?" Dean muttered.

Celia sighed heavily and ground her teeth a little. "Ya were growlin'…like an animal…"

"…Sorry…"

"Doesn't matter, Dean."

"Honeycatcher…where is he?" Dean's voice hardened, solidifying for the first time since he'd snapped out of the nightmare. Dean didn't like the rattling silence that followed.

"Celia…" Dean twisted his head towards her. "…tell me now."

She drew in a shaky breath and let it out through her teeth. "He's hangin' on...Strain hasn't called me to euthanize him so he's stable."

"Not better?"

"……He'd call me if he was better…."

Dean's breath rattled in his chest. "Celia, I'm so sorry…I should have just stayed out of that fuckin' canyon…I got him killed-"

"Shut up, Dean!"

The elder Winchester's jaw snapped shut at her barked order. Celia gripped the steering wheel tightly and ground her teeth together.

"He's not dead and it's not yer fault."

"Celia-"

"Go back to sleep, Dean. We're only part of the way through Utah." Her voice was sharp and cut, almost violently cold. Dean swallowed heavily and shivered.

"How bad is he?"

"Dean-" Celia growled.

"I need to know, M'amin." Dean ground out. He heard her grunt at the name.

"The only difference between ya and him is he's got a spilt hoof and he's a horse. Both of ya are practically shattered on the inside, both of ya should be in a hospital under supervision and both of ya are actin' like ya got pneumonia. Go to sleep, Dean."

The elder Winchester was craving more information. He tuned his wavering vision towards the radio console. The numbers danced for a few seconds before he made out that it was pushing nine at night. He looked out of the window, searching the sky and for a few seconds convinced himself that the sun and moon where both still in the sky together, but the swiftly growing dark told him otherwise. The terrain outside the window was a mish mash between scrub desert and forest territory. He twisted enough to get the right kind of angle and glimpsed a flash of silver and black. The Impala and Sam just beyond the Silverado and red stock trailer.

A good start, he was thankful that Celia's truck was newer model, it gave him a few more options to gather information from. He looked up to a small panel mounted above the rearview. Again the lit up numbers danced in his vision before settling. The Silverado was headed north east; it was about fifty-seven degrees outside. He looked to the dash, they were running about seventy four miles per hour and Celia needed an oil change soon. Dean turned his frame and rested his temple on the cool glass of the window and waited patiently until he caught a highway marker.

State Route 40 in Utah.

He shut his eyes and searched his mind for a mental map of Utah and after a few minuets a spider web of highways and roads stretched across the boarder of the state built in his mind.

"Alright…" Dean muttered his voice cracking as he faded into stifling darkness.

Celia let out a sigh of relief when Dean's congested breathing eased back into a sleep rhythm. She honestly was overwhelmed and couldn't deal with another human being. Even if it was a Winchester.

She'd come ridiculously close to shattering a few hours earlier. Dean and Sam were hurt and too stubborn to roll over, she was exhausted and Honeycatcher was on a thin line. The chance of loss, of the brothers and the horse, still lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. It shook her, down deep into her core. She didn't take to the idea of losing someone else she cared about. Her head pounding and uncaring who saw her; she'd walked back through town from the vet stable to get the Impala. Like she'd promised.

And gotten caught by Elijah.

The eldest male of her adoptive family was leaning casually on the side of the classic car, arms crossed over his chest and waiting silently in the light of the sun and moon for her or a Winchester. She'd been sure that she was busted, but Elijah just gave her a look and asked if the boys were alright.

She'd told him the truth, her belief about the situation and the reality of it. Celia still couldn't shake the small grunt and lingering silence that followed. It wasn't disappointment, it was more like contempt and a little concern. Her brother had simply told her to be careful before walking away.

Elijah's pure ability to understand had always unsettled and comforted her but it was in the Marine's nature. He was too much like Nathaniel had been.

Celia shook herself from her reverie and couldn't help the yawn that stretched her jaw uncomfortably. That was too much of a warning. When she felt tired there was a need to stop. Celia stretched awkwardly to open the glove compartment and slip out a folded map. She held it out, studying the lines and dots and looked towards a small red circle on the dark line that marked the highway she was maneuvering.

"Alright." She muttered and set it next to her on the seat instead of moving Dean to put it back again.

Another ten miles down the road Celia slowed and pulled off the main asphalt to a small motel with wooden doors and tan stucco walls. Each door's numbers lit by a small, tulip shaped lamp mounted on the wall. The parking lot was empty and a flickering neon sign warned passers by about the vacancy at the Pueblo Inn. Celia maneuvered carefully, minding the red stock trailer and shut the engine off. She glanced sideways as the Impala ground up into a space near by as she clicked open the arm rest compartment. It was a desperately handy place to keep things she needed easy access to. She lifted a small fold of leather embossed with a small horseshoe off an extra clip of ammunition and her favorite handgun, the .50 AE Desert Eagle. She unzipped the leather pouch and flipped through the collection of identifications and credit cards and chose a Utah license and a matching credit card under the name Katie Kicks with her picture, in a bandanna of course. She dropped the pouch back into the compartment, clicked the lid shut and slipped out of the cab.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked, his face written with exhaustion and worry.

"It's fine Sam." Celia said assuringly and waving her hand gently at his to settle him nerves. Sam let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

"Why stop, we could make it to Colorado tonight?"

"We're exhausted Sam. We need a minute." Celia stifled a yawn as she spoke. "But if ya want to keep goin'-"

"No, you're right." Sam blinked heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. "How's Dean?"

"Have a look." Celia tossed him the keys to the Silverado and stiffly started towards the office to get a couple of rooms. A plump Latin American woman behind the counter snapped her eyes away from some late night soap opera on a small television next to her. The shiny black hair and eyebrows starting to streak with gray.

"Hey." Celia ground out, her teeth actually clicking as she spoke. The woman jumped at the sight of Celia's face.

"Evein', can I help you?" She asked with a small smile, but her dark eyes were watching Celia's rough speech, badly bruised face and limping walk warily. Maybe a little suspiciously. Celia felt the woman's eyes drift over her shoulder and lock onto Sam in the dim parking lot light. Like most women the thought slammed into Celia at the same time that it did the woman behind the counter.

That Celia was in some kind of trouble and that man was the cause of it.

It made her bristle at the way even women classified themselves as victims.

"Two rooms, one needs two Queens, please." Celia kept her tone as light as she could and rooted out the fake cards and slid them across to the woman. She flicked her eyes between Celia and Sam several different times as she ran the cards and the i.d. before handing them back, having her sign a recite and handed her two keys.

"Thank ya." Celia said, nodding her head and touching her hat as she turned to step out of the office.

"Honey, are you alright?" The woman blurted sharply, her eyes flashing in fear from Celia's back to Sam.

God, people were paranoid; the public watched too much crime television.

"Yes ma'am. I'm fine." Celia said over her shoulder and slipped out before the woman could pluck up the gumpsion to call her back or the police.

Celia crossed the parking lot at a jog and slowed nearer to Sam. The younger Winchester snapped his attention away from the open passenger door and half conscious Dean and turned it towards her.

"Forgot how scared and blind people can be, been so long since I ran a false card." She muttered.

"Everything go alright?"

"Yeah. And by the way, the woman thinks yer abusin' me."

This snapped both brothers' attention.

"What?" Dean croaked out, more than snapped like he would have liked.

"Red, I would never-!" Sam barked, going completely rigid and rushing to defend himself.

"Easy boys. Easy. I know that." Celia reached out and gently patted Sam's tense bicep and smiling tiredly at him. "Put two and two together. Ya see a relatively small girl with a big nasty bruise on her face and a sasquatch like ya lingerin' all shady like in the parkin' lot. What would ya think?"

Sam settled a little as Celia's quiet reasoning and nodded, letting his jaw unlock, but still staying on the defense.

"I still wouldn't touch you." Sam muttered. Celia let her smile widen for a second before it slipped from her face.

"Alright." She said quietly. "C'mon, big guy, lets get yer brother here into a bed."

"I can do it myself." Dean growled. Neither Sam or Celia responded, just went about extracting Dean from the passenger seat and easing him down to the asphalt. Dean seemed more compliant and relaxed once away from the heavy layers of fabric and out into the cooler air. He didn't realize that he was shivering almost violently. In Dean's mind was still trapped in stifling heat. Sam flanked his brother as Dean tugged at the hoodie, obviously he wanted to take it off, but resisted at Celia and Sam's looks. Celia flicked her eyes to the keys in her hands, remembering which one the woman had said was the two Queens. She jogged a head of the Winchesters and followed down to the room marked with a seven and unlocked it, pushing the door open and standing back as Sam ushered the elder Winchester into the dark and flicked on the light.

"Sam." Celia tossed Sam the key when he looked and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Need any help?"

"I got it." Sam assured and gave her a thankful smile.

"Alright, I'm goin' to shower and I'll check on ya in a few. Keep him warm." She advised.

"Red. I got it." Sam stated calmly.

Celia's chest expanded for a second, then collapsed again. Her face was written in rejection for a second before it was masked and turned back to walk to the Silverado. She made sure the stock trailer was secure before pulling out a small duffle from the back seat and slung it over her shoulder, climbed up to extract the Desert Eagle and the clip. She finally climbed into the bed, unlocked the tool box and extracted a large, Bowie hunting knife and slipped it into her duffle.

Celia rolled her key between her palms and shrugged up the bag before stalking across the parking lot and unlocking the number four door and stepping inside.

Like she'd expected, the room was decorated with cactus, Mexican art influences and had a dash of Aztec to finish it off. Celia tossed her keys onto the small wooden table, letting it click against the clay of two painted pots and dropped her duffle onto the comforter of the king sized bed. Celia stretched and looked around the room, feeling oddly alone and distant from the rest of the world. She'd forgotten what of felt like to be so used to someone's presence it was unnatural to be without. Celia shrugged off the feeling and dug out her bathroom kit and slipped into the small tiled room.

…

Sam jerked at the soft rap of knuckles across the wood of the door. He tensed, casting a look at the portal for a few long seconds before rising and stalking forward.

The knock came again and a voice called through the wood. "C'mon now Sammy."

He breathed out a sigh of relief before twisting the knob and opening it. Celia gave him a slight grin and stepped in. She was dressed in red flannel bottoms, the suede and fleece coat pulled over a tank top and a black bandanna tied around her horns and hair line and the red locks were darkened almost black from the water of her shower.

"How's he doin'?" She asked, stepping over towards Dean, the elder Winchester dead asleep on the mattress with the thick comforter wrapped around his frame, every once and a while his body shook then settled again.

"I'm not sure. Alright, I figure." Sam stepped over and eased down to sit on the edge of the other bed and watched as Celia leaned forward and lightly pressed her fingers into Dean's temple.

"It's startin' to even out a little." She said quietly and nodded assuringly to Sam. "He's sweatin' it out. Just make sure there's enough water on hand and he'll be alright."

Sam nodded and rubbed his hands across his face.

"Try and get some sleep, Sammy." Celia said gently and ruffled his hair good naturedly. Sam took comfort in the contact. Dean was usually the one mussing his hair, but Celia made a good replacement for the time being. "He'll be way better in the mornin'. On my honor." She smiled at the small swear before breaking off and stiffly moving towards the door.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked quickly. All his attention had been locked on his brother, he'd al but forgotten that Celia had gone into the river too, that she probably had cracked ribs like the rest of them and the visible bruising on the side of her face that seemed to be getting worse before getting better. In some places the purple had darkened to almost black, where it had been red it was now a sickly yellow color and Sam noticed that her eye was actually swollen, not so badly that it stood out but enough to look painful. Sam was still ignoring his own pains, the welts across his torso had started to fade and his cracked ribs and the small lacerations on his skin were starting to ease in pain. Of the three of them Sam had gotten off lucky.

"I'm fine, see ya in the mornin' Sam." She said and slipped out the door, it seemed easy, almost like detachment from Sam's angle, but for Celia walking out of the small room and leaving the brother's behind had been almost excruciating. She was tempted to go back and ask to crash on the floor. She stood outside the door for a few seconds longer than she should have but swallowed the strain and soldiered on back along the doors to number four.

…

Sam's face scrunched, he tried to block out the voice rippling over his dream about Caribbean waters and white sand.

"Sammy, c'mon."

"…No…not now…" Sam muttered under his breath, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

"Sam."

Sam groaned then jumped out of his skin when a now all too familiar flash of pain rippled over his ear as it was flicked. Sam's eyes snapped open and alarm blurred through him for a few seconds before settling again, wide awake. Sam sniffed loudly and blinked slowly, trying to get the sand out of his eyes.

"C'mon Sam, get up."

Sam grunted at Celia's voice, trying to figure out how she'd gotten into the room. But if she was a player she had probably just picked the lock or went to the office to ask for another one because she was 'locked out'.

"Sam."

"What?" Sam grumbled into the pillow and hugged it closer.

"Come run with me."

The younger Winchester's brow furrowed and he rolled over, twisting to blink up at her. Celia stood right in front of his face, leaning her knees against the mattress. She looked strange, Sam was used to the jeans, tee and flannel shirt layers and the general 'cowgirl' look. He almost didn't recognize her for a second. She was dressed on loose fitting, black work out pants with white stripes running up the outside of her legs. Her hands were tucked deeply into the pocket of am ash gray hoodie, also over large, for her small frame and her red hair held back by the same black bandanna.

Sam's eyes settled on the image on the hoodie for a few seconds before his well above average brain processed it. A cartoonish and simplistic image of a voodoo doll with a stitched mouth, button eyes, a few plugs of hair and several needles with large brightly colored bead ends stuck into the body was surrounded by a thick out line of black; making the bright colors of he image stand out more. The doll was accompanied by bold letters reading **'Whodo Hoodoo? I do.'**

"What are you wearing?" Sam muttered almost sarcastically.

Celia looked down at her hoodie then back up at him. "Shut up, I like this. Come run with me."

"What?" Sam groaned, rubbing a hand across his face and struggled to reach his watch sitting on the bedside table and twisted it to look at the hour, it was barely five thirty in the morning. He'd slept almost six hours; that was more than he normally got. He vaguely remembered waking up at one point around one in the morning to the sound of someone fussing with the stock trailer and watched through the cracked door for a few seconds as she checked up and redosed the griffons.

"Come run a mile with me."

"Run a mile?" Sam pushed himself up to a sitting position and scrubbed at his eyes. Celia sighed loudly and looked towards the ceiling for a few seconds before looking back at him.

"Sam, I'm a workin' animal. When I'm travelin' like this I don't have chores and things so early in the mornin' so…I run…come run with me."

Sam looked her up and down.

"Please?" She shrugged her shoulders a little. Sam's eyes flashed to the other bed in the room.

"Dean-"

"I already checked up on him. His temperatures about normal, he's only a little congested and drank plenty of water. He's squared away and has my cell and yers if he needs help. Come on, Sam."

She sounded direly close to a whine and did a little anxious shift. Sam's eyes flicked down, she was wearing some relatively cheap, but sturdy running sneakers.

"Sam?"

"A mile?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Two. Mile out mile in."

Sam groaned.

"Fifteen minutes, tops, Sammy. C'mon, please?"

Sam looked at her, trying to figure out when Celia had suddenly become dependent on his and Dean's company. Sam had gotten used to the cool, collected and ridiculously independent Celia Northwind, the girl that didn't need anyone's approval or company.

Now she was being almost clingy, practically begging for Sam to tag along.

"Alright." Sam muttered, shifting to ease the stiffness in his sore body. "Alright, give me a second."

Celia's face broke into a grin and she moved back to give Sam the room to maneuver. She waited patiently near the door while Sam rooted deeply into his duffle to find his neglected pair of gray sweat pants, a simple black tee shirt and his dark blue hoodie. Sam slipped into the bathroom and changed, then temporarily slipped on his boots to make it out to the Impala and dig around to find his tennis shoes. Celia following along on his heels doggedly, even rocking on the balls of her feet until he was ready, relocked the Impala and the hotel room.

"Ready?" Celia asked hopefully. Sam nodded, ruffling his hair.

"Two miles." He muttered,

"Only two miles." She assured and took off across the parking lot at an easy trot, Sam took a breath and caught up to her in a few strides, he evened out his pace to match hers and when they hit the deserted highway their pace kicked up to a easy going run. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd run for recreational reasons. Just to exercise. Sam had spent so much of his adult life running to and from monsters and emergencies he'd never really made it a point to actually set out an exercise routine.

Dean did.

More than once Sam had woken up in the middle of the night or earlier than normal in the day to catch Dean in the middle of grueling, militaristic sets of floor exercises and calisthenics. Push ups, sit ups, crunches and God knew what else. More than once Dean had been absent from the motel room, no reason and no explanation except Sam's reasoning that Dean had been running when the elder brother came back soaked in sweat. The training that their father, John, had pounded into them, the need to keep in top shape never left the elder Winchester or slacked off like it had Sam.

He found the sudden snap back into conditioning unpleasant and pleasant at the same time. Like most American's exercise was not high on Sam's list of things he found particularly fun, but when your life was nothing but one, ongoing and duressing horror movie it was comforting to do something that not only ensured your future safety without the stress.

It was painful at first, his whole body felt ridiculously heavy and ache was everywhere but after a few long strides the pain started to fade until it was dull enough to be ignored. After that it wasn't hard to settle into enjoying the run.

He liked the relaxation of it; the feeling of his lungs filling completely with cool, fresh air was like a balm to his tired soul.

His longer legs made his stride almost double that of Celia's, but she kept up easily without really quickening her pace. She seemed to be moving in the same stride. Sam remembered that Dean had almost been a little a head. He liked it better to have someone on the same step as him.

"What do ya want to talk 'bout?"

Sam twitched his head towards her. "What?" He panted out.

"When ya run, yer supposed to keep a pace that ya can keep up a conversation. What's the point of doin' that if ya don't talk to whoever yer runnin' with?"

Sam laughed quietly under his breath and couldn't help but smile.

"Alright." He sighed, "So the grif-"

"No Huntin' stuff. We can talk 'bout that all day long, but for fifteen minutes how 'bout somethin' different."

Sam sighed again and rolled his shoulders mid stride. Trying to think of a topic that didn't relate them through Hunting.

"Nathaniel was a cop, right?"

"Yessir."

"Did he study law?"

"Think so."

"You wanted to be a cop, too. Right?"

"If they'd have me."

Sam mulled for a few long seconds, figuring if he should go on. What the hell?

"Did you study law?"

**Read and Review y'all! Whoo! **


	37. Rescue Me

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

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**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Thirty Seven: Rescue Me**

"**Whoever destroys a single life is as guilty as though he had destroyed the entire world; and whoever rescues a single life earns as much merit as though he had rescued the entire world."**

**-The Talmud**

…

"I'm still confused 'bout what's the difference between common and moral law, Sam," Celia panted. Sam groaned, his stride still matching her though his legs itched and were beginning to ache.

"Red, c'mon. I explained it three times," he moaned.

"Moral law's used in court right?"

"Not really." Sam's long legs carried him a stride ahead before he checked himself and eased back to run next to her.

"So it's not real law--"

"I didn't say that."

"Jesus, I give up," Celia groaned and suddenly stopped. Startled, Sam went another few yards before he stopped and turned to look at her. She stood with her head hanging and her hands resting heavily on her hips. Her chest was heaving and she was sweating, what hair that had escaped the bandanna was sticking to her neck and temple.

"You all right?" Sam asked, trying to catch his own breath.

"Yeah, why?"

"Why'd you stop?"

"Two miles," Celia panted and motioned behind Sam. He twisted and blinked, a little startled to find that the Pueblo Inn's parking lot was right behind him.

"That went by fast," he muttered and rubbed a hand across his brow and scrubbed the hair out of his eyes.

"Sometimes that's the way it goes," Celia sighed, stretching her hands above her head and arching her back.

"It was nice," Sam muttered.

"Don't talk about it like it'll never happen again Sam." Celia sniffed and patted his shoulder as she walked passed him toward the stock trailer still hooked up to the Silverado. She glanced around, but it was still early enough in the day that she wasn't too worried about being seen as she hauled open the door and stepped inside. Sam stepped around to stand in the open gap and watched from the pavement as Celia carefully maneuvered around the sedated and nearly comatose shapes of the griffon pride. The animals' sides rising and falling in silent breath. He glanced at the face of the nearest one and went tense.

"Red," Sam breathed. She snapped her head around fast to look at him then follow his eyes toward the griffon.

The animal's larger amber eyes were open, even rolling around a little in place to look at its surroundings.

"It's all right, Sam. That's what they look like when they're sedated. Sometimes their eyes stay open," Celia reassured and maneuvered over to the griffon and rested her hands on its jaw line. The griffon didn't move or change, the eyes didn't even twitch toward her.

Sam relaxed, feeling a little disturbed and queasy at the feeling of his slowing down heartbeat suddenly lurching back into action.

"I'm going to go shower."

She waved him off and continued her work around the animals, dosing the ones over again that needed it. She would have to lay off the drugs once they were closer to their destinations to insure that the animals wouldn't be completely defenseless once they were dumped in the Rockies.

She finished her inspection an hour later and stepped out of the trailer, easing stiffly onto the pavement and swinging the door closed and locking it back into place. She rested with her hands on the trailer door for a few long seconds, fighting down a yawn.

"Miss?"

She jumped, startled by the rough, male voice and the fact that it had snuck up on her. She twisted and glanced over his shoulder to spot the khaki and dark brown of a county sheriff. Probably a deputy. Her eyes flickered over his frame for a split second, drawing in everything she needed to know.

Her eyes tracked the clip in his holstered weapon, the star shaped badge pinned to his chest, the radio on

his shoulder, the name tag that read_ Jarkowski_ and the patch on this shirt sleeve, a bell shape with twisted garland of some kind of plant with pink flowers and a brown hawk stretching it's wings under the words Uintah County Sheriff Department.

She swallowed and cursed the overly nosy inn operator and wished that the bruises on her face and throat had dulled in color instead of flushed with it. She plastered on a confused smile and turned to meet the deputy. His concerned blue eyes flashed wide at the damaged flesh of Celia's face, clearly he hadn't been given a good description of what it looked like.

"Yes, officer?" she asked and cocked her head to the side and quirked and eyebrow at him.

"Miss, I'm Deputy Jarkowski. I had a call from Mrs. Marquez, she's very concerned about you," he said, quietly.

"Marquez?" Celia thought for a second. "Oh, the owner. What would she be worried 'bout me for?" Celia let a small laugh slip from her lips. She could see the suspicion deep in his eyes, accompanied by worry.

"Well, Miss--?"

"Kicks. Katie Kicks, officer," Celia returned without hesitation.

"Miss Kicks, you gave her a bit of a fright coming in late last night with your face six different colors."

_Well, that was blunt_… Celia thought to herself and restrained from lashing out at the officer, he was just

trying to do his job.

"She asked and I told her I was fine, officer. She didn't need to waste any of yer time askin' ya to come out." Celia's nostrils flared but she didn't dare flick her eyes sideways as Dean stiffly approached. His

movements were a little jerky and his breathing shallow. He was still recovering but had welled up enough strength and gumpsion to come to her aid. Celia could see something brewing in his eyes and she fed off it.

She hunched her shoulders and physically shrank in on herself, self consciously. She lifted a hand to touched her bruised temple.

The deputy's eyes flashed dangerously and cast them swiftly to the advancing Winchester.

"Everythin' all right, officer?" Dean asked, dropping his voice a few octaves and mimicking Celia's accent perfectly. Her eyes went to his face, flashing in mild surprise. Dean smiled sadly at her and she returned the sorrowful look. Dean stepped over and very gently draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her closer. The elder Winchester turned his gaze to the deputy who was glaring at him with hate and suspicion.

"I was talking to the lady, and I would prefer to continue this conversation one on one," the deputy said warningly. He hadn't been given a very good description of the man that was supposedly abusing Celia according to the inn's owner anyway.

"I don't think there's anythin' that Katie cain't say in front of me, right sis?" Dean asked with the same sad smile. Celia leaned closer to Dean's frame and looked at the deputy suddenly like he was a dangerous animal and then up at Dean like he was a god.

"Nope."

"He's your brother?"

"Baby brother. Chris, this is Deputy Sheriff Jarkowski. He got called by the owner, just wanted to make sure everythin' was all right."

"Is everything all right?" Jarkowski asked and cocked his eyebrow up, fixing Dean with a dangerous glare.

Dean cocked his head and let out a soft huff of noise before he turned his attention to Celia.

"Katie, why don't ya go inside and get cleaned up a little before we head out."

"Sure."

Dean dipped his head and gently pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Celia twitched at the pressure of his lips through the fabric of her bandanna to the ridges of her horn. Celia broke away from Dean and hugging herself walked toward the Winchester's room, where no doubtedly Sam was waiting just behind the door.

Dean watched her back until she was through the door then turned his eyes to the slightly fuming deputy and put on a false face of pure pity, rubbing a hand across his jaw. The deputy's face changed, concern washing over his eyes.

"Everything all right, son?"

Dean turned his eyes to the deputy and heaved a deep sigh. "Look, officer, I swear to God that neither me or our other brother would ever hurt Katie…"

"What's going on, son? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Dean sighed again.

"All ya need to know is what was happenin' wasn't right and we're all gettin' away from it…as fast as we can…" Dean looked at the deputy pleadingly. The deputy heaved a deep sigh, reached into his back pocket and slipped out a business card, scribbled something on the back with a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to Dean. He scanned the logo and phone number for a crisis line then flipped it over to Jarkowski's personal phone number.

"Ya call me, son, if ya need help."

"Yessir." Dean gave the deputy an appreciative smile before reaching to shake the man's hand. The deputy waited until Dean turned and walked stiffly back toward the room, playing up his aching joints a little bit more to give the impression to the deputy that Celia wasn't the only one hurt, which she wasn't. The deputy watched him retreat before slipping into the office to reassure the tentatively waiting inn manager.

Dean shut the door behind him and slipped the card into his jeans pocket, he couldn't throw it out just yet.

The deputy had been genuinely concerned, even if it was all a lie, and that touched Dean a little.

"That was smooth playin' the abuse card, Winchester," Celia sighed. Dean only shook his head and

stepped over to ease himself down onto his bed. The interaction had drained him.

"We need to get movin'. That didn't make me feel comfortable at all, locals are too well meanin' for my taste," Celia muttered, her eyes still watching as the deputy left without bothering to snoop into the horse trailer, it wouldn't be a pleasant thing if they had to knock out a county official and make a run for it.

Dean grunted. Sam nodded and moved to start packing things back into their duffels. His hair was still damp and sticking to his neck and temples after his shower.

"It's funny that they're there to rescue you when you don't need it but not when you're in deep shit," Sam muttered and his attention turned toward Celia when she started speaking in her cell phone. Sam hadn't even noticed her dialing a number.

"Hey, Marley… yeah it's Red. Listen, we're goin' to be runnin' pretty hard here soon, well be in for the drop off before dark… all right, thanks, Marley."

Sam and Dean met eyes for a second before the elder spoke mumbling into his pillow and comforter.

"Who's Marley?"

"'Nother Hunter I know that's local in Colorado," Celia returned.

"Why are you talking to another Hunter?" Sam asked, tension clear in his voice, he and Dean had trouble with other, unknown Hunters before. They didn't want anymore complications.

"Well, I wasn't really comfortable with dumpin' a pride of griffons into open territory. Especially after bein' torn from their normal diets. I mean, naturally they'll take up eatin' deer and elk and so on but not careful enough and they'll turn into maneaters."

"Right… " Sam muttered, " …like when they relocated wolves into Yellow Stone they were confused and started killing local stock instead of normal prey." He twitched at his own reference to wolves.

"Exactly," Celia said, pointing at him. "Get packed up and meet me at the truck in a few."

She stepped out the door without much more explanation.

The brothers looked at each other and Dean grumbled and pressed his face further into the pillow while Sam moved around him, it only took about ten minuets to get everything together and badger Dean into cleaning up a little and dressing himself. The elder Winchester's fever was gone but the aches left over were playing havoc on him. At least the second round of stitching in his side was staying and some of the swelling had gone down. He still felt like Frankenstein.

The brothers slipped out of their room and threw their gathered gear into the Impala before stepping stiffly over to where Celia had a map spread out over the hood of the Silverado. She must have picked it up on one of the stops for gas through Utah.

The brothers put trained eyes to the colored lines and markings of the Colorado boundaries.

"All right boys, here's where we're goin'." Celia used her teeth to take the cap off a red sharpie pen and started drawing directly on the map, following the highways and roads as she spoke.

"We'll keep followin' the 40 to the 64 and that one through to Rangley. From Rangely 139 down to Loma and follow 6 through Fruita and the Grand Junction. It'll be a little tricky around the National Monument 'cause it's gettin' toward the end of tourist season but it shouldn't be horrible. We can stop over in

Whitewater in the Orchid Mesa, get somethin' to eat, refuel and see where we're at."

The brothers repeated to themselves over what she'd said, following the red line she'd drawn, until they new the destination totally they couldn't make a distinction if there was a better route.

"From there?" Sam asked.

"The 141 to Gateway, then Urvan down through Vancorum and Naturita…keep followin' the 141 into San Miguel county to this little patch of green." Celia touched an isolated looking shape of green on the white of the map. "It's a chunk of the Uncompahgre Plateau and National Forest, one of the only off limits places to hunters and campers in the Colorado forests now. Helps that Marley lives in Norwood and she's not likely to leave it, she's their only full time firefighter paramedic."

"Firefighter, paramedic and a Hunter?" Dean asked and looked at Sam as Celia nodded. "See, I could've done both." Sam rolled his eyes and didn't address the issue. "It's completely isolated?" Dean asked.

"Mountainous, lots of hay brunners…" the brothers looked at her questioningly "…elk and white tail and things of that nature. And it's close enough that Marley has a problem I can haul my ass out there to deal with it…God the average lifespan of these things…I could be dealin' with this problem until I'm in my eighties…if I live that long."

Dean flinched, his mind reflecting sharply on the late night conversation not too long ago about the demon and how it was slowly but surely eating Celia from the inside out.

"Why do you care what happens to them later?" Dean growled, suddenly disturbed. "You've done you're part."

"I'm responsible for 'em, Dean. I got 'em out of my territory but I'm puttin' 'em into someone else's and they're far from dead, until the pride's dead I'm responsible for 'em," Celia said as she circled the small patch of griffon paradise then handed the map to Sam. "Let's get movin'."

"Don't you need this?" Sam asked, folding the map so the red line was visible and the map wasn't a hindrance.

"No, I got a mind like a bear trap, this way ya can drive ahead of me." Celia waved him off and started toward the driver's side of the Silverado. "We're already checked out so lets hit it."

"No breakfast?" Dean grumbled.

"Ya'll take point and pick a place, I'll stop behind ya."

Sam looked at Dean then the brothers looked back at Celia. She had been in control for the majority of the Hunt, her experience over theirs was priority but now she was basically handing them the reins.

"Red, are you all right?" Sam asked, cocking his head. She blinked and tilted her head slightly.

"Yeah, I'm all right…I'm just really tired…" Celia gave them a weak smile before running a hand up, over the fabric of the bandanna tied around her head then into her hair around her ear. "I want to get this done and get back as soon as possible..."

"All right," Sam assured, though he was unsure why she seemed so ready to return to a place that was suddenly thrust into turmoil.

"I'll drive." Dean reached for the Impala keys and Sam immediately closed his hand tightly around them.

"Sorry, dude. I don't trust your swimming vision." Sam shook head and turned to speak to Celia but found that she had already stepped around to climb into the driver's seat of the Silverado.

"C'mon." The younger Winchester nudged his brother toward the Impala before climbing into the driver's seat and revving the engine to life.

Sam maneuvered out of the parking lot, and following the line drawn on the map, pulled onto the highway with the massive white truck and the red stock trailer right behind him.

…

The road rolled out ahead of them like a black river. It was like a homecoming for the Winchesters to get back to cheap motels and highway side diners. They had stayed in places for months at a time before but the eerie feeling of 'home' shrouded Tuscarora and the Wounded Heart Ranch. It made them comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.

It was good to be on a case and good to be on the road again, even if they would eventually just turn around and head back to finish closing the case…then leave Nevada…

Dean's eyes blinked open at the sudden thought.

He was feeling better, his stomach had finally settled with a large helping of greasy sausage, hash browns and scrambled eggs from Maggie's Roadside Diner. He was back in the Impala, listening to his music and while his body ached and throbbed with the slowly healing injuries of the case, he was whole and alive and so was his brother.

And Celia.

Who, in a few more days, wouldn't be in their lives anymore.

Just like hundreds, maybe thousands of other people that slipped into the Winchester's existence just long enough to be saved or schooled then faded back out, by death or otherwise. And Celia was resigned to join the ranks of those before. Being a Hunter, gave her an edge that they might cross again…but Celia was a local Hunter, she didn't leave her territory.

They could start taking more cases around Nevada.

But localized Hunter's were territorial and aggressive. As far he knew Celia didn't seem to mind to have them along or working in her area but other Hunters, and the Southwest seemed to have a number by the way that the Bargest Bar was packed the other night, might not be so open to welcoming the brothers into the area, especially if they had their own families and "day jobs" to protect. The more Hunters there were in one area the more it was like locking more and more dogs into a closet, eventually it would end in a bloody mess.

Or worse, some form of authority gets wind of what's going on and there goes the whole job…which might not be all bad. If the public at large knew about the monsters under their beds, and after they got over the initial panic and started learning from Hunters or calling them in to deal with their problems it was a chance at something totally new and different.

Hunting could be a legit line of work. He and Sam could be 'professionals' instead of 'criminals'.

But that was about as likely as Dean trading the Impala in.

Dean shifted in the passenger seat and watched the rises and falls of the Colorado Rockies in the distance. They continued to skirt the edges of the Colorado Utah boarder, but the dark blue and purple mountains seemed to be visible from all directions.

But he didn't really register the world outside, he was drowning within, his mind suddenly spinning and trying to process reality crashing back into him.

His memory was in broken pieces that didn't seem to fit in a right way, no matter how many times he turned them over in his head, the sharp edges of new memories trying to fit in with old seemed to slice his hands…or the edges of his mind, causing more damage than harm. Was Sam suffering the same thing? Dean knew his brother would have approached him, tried to talk to him about memories forcing their way into place. That was Sam's nature. His little brother hadn't made an attempt yet so it was a relatively good chance that other than the couple of visions Sam wasn't getting the same reaction.

He needed help…help to pull it all together.

Celia was the most likely course to take…but she'd already opted out.

That left the Chieftain. And he sure as Hell didn't want to speak to that damn thing.

But above all the turmoil and distress that was trying to overpower him there was an ugly, black pit digging deeper and deeper into his gut. Pure loneliness trying to eat at him.

The last thing he wanted was for Celia to fade into the dust and desert wind. He had a feeling that the loss would… it would be too hard… and he wasn't going to let it happen.

…

Things were returning to normal. Gas and grab and go junk food for lunch that neither brother found appetizing much less something they could finish willingly. Most of it had been abandoned for a trade of over the counter painkillers. The Winchester's stomachs upset by the pain that was stiffening their joints and bruises and lacerations, especially in Dean's stitched up side, the constant jostling of the Impala, especially through the Grand Junction fiasco had undone all the healing that his sleep the night before had accomplished. He could feel his skin and muscles starting to swell again and his bruises had faded into different colors and were aching again. At least he didn't have any kind of fever or infection setting in.

"Dean."

The elder Winchester's attention snapped to his brother. Sam's eyes were locked on the road ahead. The elder brother sat up and shifted around to see better. He felt Sam beginning to ease the brakes and the Impala slowing down. Dean tensed up, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and his eyes narrowed at the sight of a large, blue pickup truck parked across the two lane road they had been driving down.

He especially didn't like the looks of the small, blonde woman leaning against the side of the truck with her arms across her chest.

The woman glanced up as they closed in on the last hundred and fifty yards toward her and the truck. She pushed herself off the truck and while the Winchester brothers expected her to approach the Impala, she only pulled open the driver side door and climbed in, starting the truck and pulling off road, directly onto a dirt track along side the pavement, two carved out ruts in the earth.

She waved at them to follow out of the window. The brothers exchanged looks and ground their teeth together, unsure if they should risk the wave.

Dean's cell phone buzzed to life, making both brothers jump. Dean dug around until he found the device and flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"_Follow through the gate then pull over, Dean,"_ Celia's voice said back over the line. _"The Impala won't make it up the ridge, y'all ride with me, all right?"_

"Sure." Dean snapped his phone shut and turned to Sam to repeat the instruction.

"Must be Marley," Sam muttered and eased the Impala off the road and onto the dirt trail after the blue pickup. They maneuvered through the outer wall of under brush and trees, finding a large rutted out clearing of dirt and rock, plenty of room for the Impala to park and the Silverado to squeeze by without scratching her.

Sam parked and cut the engine, both brothers stepping out and standing back as the Silverado rolled to a stop next to them. Sam jogged around to take the shot gun seat and Dean climbed into the back seat behind Celia. Once the doors were shut the Silverado rolled into motion again.

"Doin' all right, fellas?" Celia asked, keeping her eyes on the rut road a head.

"Yeah," Sam assured. Dean only grunted and met Celia's eyes in the rearview. She cocked an eyebrow at him and Dean faked a smile in return. He knew he didn't fool her for a second but Celia didn't question him further.

Dean was grateful for that, he slumped into the backseat and tried hard not to move or be moved as the Silverado jostled up the dirt track. Dean shut his eyes and concentrated on breathing shallowly for the next forty five minuets as the truck climbed up the rise and fall of the small mountain. He breathed a sigh of relief when the truck finally ground a stop. The climb had been a serious test of the truck's strength, the Silverado was actually parked on a slope, its tires and brakes digging in to stay put.

"All right, everybody out," Celia muttered, climbing out of the cab. Sam and Dean followed a little more slowly. They glanced around at another dug out clearing of dirt. The road had faded off, over grown by

brush and trees.

The blonde dropped out of her blue truck and trotted back, and with her came the smell of deteriorating meat. Dean and Sam both swallowed the urge to vomit and stiffened at her approach.

"Red," the blonde called, lifting a hand before sliding both into the pockets of her jeans. The tee shirt was a print of flowers on pale blue, she didn't look much like a Hunter but the large Bowie knife strapped to her hip told a different tale.

"Hey, Marley." Celia stepped forward and took the blonde's hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank ya again for takin' this on."

"No big deal, Red. It'll give me an excuse to stay close to home and not feel like I'm shaking the job."

Marley gave a small smile before her blue eyes flicked to Dean and Sam, she lifted an eyebrow.

"Marley, this is Sam and Dean Winchester." Celia motioned toward each of them. "Boys, this is Marley Rue."

"Hey fellas."

Hey." Sam reached out and took her hand, but Dean only held onto his side and gave her a half smile before his eyes clouded. Marley looked at him in concern.

"Marley do ya think ya could give Dean there a once over until I get him back to Doc Hallengale?" Celia asked, Dean narrowed his eyes at her but didn't speak against Celia's request.

"Sure, let's get this done first, huh?"

Celia nodded and head back toward the trailer. Sam stepped after her and Dean started to follow.

"Dean, why don't ya give Marley a hand?" Celia said. The elder Winchester cocked his head but nodded and turned back to follow the blonde.

"Guess she'd rather you haul a hundred pounds at a time instead of a thousand." Marley said with a small smile and pulled down the tail gate of her pickup. Dean reeled a little and crinkled his nose. Three large whitetail deer lay dead in the truck bed.

"What's this for?" Dean muttered.

"Wean these things off horses as soon as possible, best to offer 'em something different right off the bat. Grab that set of hooves right there."

Dean wrapped his hands tightly around the fore hooves and legs of the nearest deer while Marley grabbed the hind legs.

He pulled and found that the does weren't nearly as heavy as he expected, on his end it couldn't have been more than fifty or sixty pounds. It hurt bracing against the weight and the pain in his side, but he was grateful for the lighter load instead of having to haul the griffons. Dean grunted through lugging the doe toward the edges of the clearing and dropped it heavily on Marley's command. He dusted off his hands and followed Marley back for the next doe.

Sam and Celia were having a little trouble with the griffons. Celia had slacked off on their dosages so they were definitely more awake than they had been for the last forty eight hours. Their eyes were open and they were twitching around more, even stretching their limbs and wings. Sam and Celia started with the foremost animal, a smaller female. The griffon growled when Sam looped a rope around the hind legs and tightened it. He then tangled his arms and hands into the lariat and waited until Celia stepped around to the fore quarters and dug her hands under the griffon's shoulder, lifting and shoving while Sam pulled.

"You all right up there, Red?" Sam asked, watching as Celia seemed to actually lift the half tone animal.

"Yeah, why?"

"Isn't it heavy?"

"I can lift the truck off the ground if I needed to," Celia grunted and gave the griffon a small shove, enough for Sam to put his weight against the rope and with the momentum pull the griffon off the trail and with a groan and thud into the dirt.

"You can?"

"Yep…I guess sometimes gettin' stuck with a demon has its perks."

Sam didn't respond to that but fell into silence and helped drag the griffon off toward the edge of the clearing then followed back to repeat the process with the next animal.

Dean groaned stiffly as he dropped the last of the three does onto the earth. He braced his hands on his tights and puffed for breath.

"You all right, Dean?" Marley asked.

"Fine," the elder Winchester returned stiffly. Marley's grunt in return made it clear she didn't believe him.

"I can't wait to take a hard look at you," Marley muttered and pulled the Bowie knife free from her hip, she squatted next to the does and methodically sliced open each of their bellies, letting blood flow onto the ground.

Marley wiped her blade off on her jeans and slid it back into place before walking ahead of Dean toward the trailer were Sam and Celia were working on pulling free the fifth adult griffon. One more adult to go and then a kitten.

"Need any help, Red?" Marley asked, walking up the trailer alongside Sam and the red head.

"Sure. Hey Dean, why don't ya get that kitten for me."

"You got it," Dean muttered and stepped over the slack form of the griffon and around the two women to scoop up the griffon kitten. The much smaller animal's eighty pounds was strain for him but he soldiered through and carried the kitten down and out of the trailer as Sam, Celia and Marley started in on the last griffon.

Dean eased the kitten down next to the largest female adult and patted the baby's fur for a second.

The bright yellow eyes of the half-drugged female rolled around to look at him and suddenly her head jerked up and swung toward him, she snarled and snapped her beak at him.

Dean lurched back to avoid being slashed, falling hard onto his butt and scrambling back. The griffon struggled for a second before slumped back to the earth, sides heaving. Dean took a few long seconds to catch his breath and settled his thundering heart.

"That's it, I'm done with these things…" Dean snapped and shoved himself painfully back to his feet and grumbling under his breath stalked toward the truck.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam puffed, hesitating as he helped pull the last griffon over toward the others.

"No," Dean snapped and climbed into the passenger seat, he left the door open but leaned back against the cushion of the seat and shut his eyes, trying to mentally and physically block out the pain.

"Marley?" Celia asked, her voice clearly lined with worry.

The blonde nodded and stepped over toward Dean, his green eyes flicked open, the deadly and ingrained suspicion of medical professionals already glazed in his eyes. Marley may only have been a paramedic but that still qualified as EMS.

"Can you take off your shirt, Dean?" Marley coaxed.

Dean grumbled, shifting up and forward until he was sitting on the edge of the seat like it was exam table in front of Marley. Dean carefully stripped his shirt off and sat up as much as he could without panting.

She face twisted in a sympathetic grimace. "One of these bastards got you, huh?"

"Something like that," Dean growled and straightened his spine more. Marley let out an unhappy noise but advanced to carefully look over the stitched up lacerations and swollen skin.

"Couple of broken ribs?"

"Cracked at worst," Dean lied, his sides throbbing with each inhale.

"Who cleaned you up, Dean?" Marley asked, her hands lightly tracing the lines of stitches.

"Sam and Celia."

"Good, it looks like a good enough job without actually putting staples in it. These are nice but it would be good to open it back up, clean the thing up and put in new sutures." She placed her palm flat against his stomach for a few seconds before pulling it back. "No fever."

"He had one."

Dean and Marley looked up to meet Celia's concerned red eyes.

"It broke last night, been all right since then," She continued. Sam stepped over to hover at her shoulder.

"All right, well, I figure it's good enough to hold until Hallengale gets a crack at it. Penicillin--"

"No," Sam, Celia and Dean all snapped at the same time. Marley's eyebrows cocked up and she looked

between them.

"Something I'm missing?" she asked.

"He's allergic," Celia clarified. "Last thing we need is a round of anaphylactic shock."

"All right…Then go with some extra strength aspirin. It'll kill anything trying to grow and help dull out the pain."

"Just aspirin?" Sam asked.

"You expect more? That ought to do it." Marley shrugged.

"Ah, the miracles of modern medicine," Dean groaned and pulled his shirt back on.

"So long as there are no bad setbacks and plenty of water in his system he should hold until he sees Hallengale. And he's good with this kind of injury, he'll set you right in a second."

"Yeah, I figure," Celia agreed.

"What do we tell him?" Sam asked.

Marley and Celia twisted to look at Sam when he spoke.

"What do ya mean, Sammy?" Celia asked.

Sam looked like he'd been asked an undesirably simple question. "What do we tell him? How Dean got hurt? Hit by a truck?"

Dean grunted and hugged his aching chest.

"We tell him Dean got ripped up a griffon," Celia returned, looking at Sam the same way.

Dean and Sam looked between each other.

"You're kidding right?" Dean grumbled.

"No... " Celia replied, trying to catch what she'd missed between the brothers.

"We can't tell him the truth!" Dean snorted.

"Why not?" Marley flicked her eyes between the brothers.

"Because that would be telling him that Dean was mauled by a griffon," Sam growled.

"He's seen worse." Celia crossed her arms across her chest and seemed to be puffing a little bit.

"Are you insane?" Dean snapped. "We can't go around talking about griffons. People aren't supposed to know about this stuff."

Marley blinked and her eyes flashed between the brothers then to Celia. "Red, don't these guys know about

Tuscarora?"

Celia looked over her shoulder and then back to the wary faces of the brothers.

"Oh shit…ya guys don't have any idea what we're talkin' 'bout…" Celia looked startled and a little unnerved, it seemed like she was beginning to forget that Sam and Dean didn't remember a childhood together with her.

"No. We don't," Dena said flatly.

"Boys." Celia swallowed heavily. "Tuscarora is a Hunter Town."

The brothers blinked at her.

"A what?" Sam asked.

"A Hunter Town, remember I told ya that the three Greers, Nathaniel, Jessop and Elijah started the town two hundred years ago. They were Hunters, come over from the old country and all that shit. They founded the town and the territory, Hell, most of Elko county, for Hunters. Like a sanctuary. Why the Hell ya think that every other person we've met has been an out of the closet Hunter?"

The brothers were still trying to process what she was telling them.

Celia sighed and looked at them sympathetically. "Everyone in Tuscarora, everyone that has ever lived there and everyone that ever will either is, retired, or related to a Hunter. There are no 'civilians' inside Tuscarora boarders, never will be."

* * *

**Disclaimer y'all!: I am in no way associated with the Uintah Sheriff's Dept. and while all the routes, cities and territories mentioned in this chapter are real places and you can find them on a good road map, Tuscarora is also a real town and as far as I know of is nothing like a describe it and not a Hunter Town or territory…or is it? Anyway, hopefully no readers in Utah, Colorado and especially Nevada will take offense. Thanks!**


	38. Ride For Life

**SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!**

**DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

…

**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

…

…

**Chapter Thirty Eight: Ride For Life**

"**He who is carried on another's back does not appreciate how far off the town is."**

**- African proverb**

…

He'd never seen her ride for the hell of riding.

It was something else...

Sharp green eyes watched as Celia coaxed her mount into a smooth, long legged lope. The horse's neck arched deeply, almost tucking his chin into her chest, and lifted her tail.

_Arabian... damnit... _When was he suddenly able to see the signs and characteristics of different breeds in a mutt horse? He twitched his eyes toward the other occupants of the largest paddock on the Wounded Heart property: Honeycatcher gazed carefully, favoring his split hoof and only putting a little weight on it at a time, but the reinforced plastic shoe and the iron staples and wall plaster were holding up. Blackbird grazed quietly next to the cremello stud and Chambeau flipped her tail to casually swat the flies off both studs. And just beyond the three recovering horses, Sam was working his pity mare in a slow circle on a slack lunge line.

Dean hadn't seen his brother's eyes look so hopeful and excited in years... maybe since before Jessica and then their father passed away. Every move Sam made was slow and careful, trying desperately to do anything but spook the already nervous mare. Homewrecker, Sam called her. Evidently the type title stuck.

Every time the little mare made a pass Dean could see the ugly wound that was slowly healing over, the scar would probably never re-grow fur, a disfigurement all down her leg and barrel. Dean could see the fear in the sharp blue eyes of the little horse, but it seemed to be fleeting. Her nostrils were flared, her steps quick and jumping from time to time, but the longer Sam spoke to her-- the quieter his tone was --the smoother the mare's stride was and the more slack Sam had to take in on the lunge line as she maneuvered to trot closer to him.

Dean leaned back against the wood of the round tie post, he could feel the wire mesh pressing into his skin through his T-shirt and the thick bandaging around his chest, forcing his ribs to knit together correctly. Doctor Halen had been reassuring and truthful with Dean, down to the last detail of how long it really was going to take for his ribs to heal and that given the number of times that the stitches had been ripped open and re-stitched then opened and stitched again by the doctor himself... it was going to scar. Dean knew he was going to scar, knew from the first second Celia had stitched him together the second time. But there was an undeniable feeling of relief and comfort in being able to look a medical professional, a man with a degree and training and acceptance by the Nevada State Medical Bar... and tell him that the injuries had been caused by a griffon. And not only be believed, but to be questioned about it. Halen's interest, his concern struck a deep chord with the elder Winchester. For the first time in his hard life Dean felt comfortable... safe in a physician's office.

Halen told him to lay off the Hunt for a month, month and a half, and he'd be back at full at the end of it. The small chuckle the doctor had given and the shake of his head had made it very clear to Dean that the older man did not expect for one second that Dean would wait six weeks for his ribs to heal up. Even that small behavior, that action that the doctor gave recognizing the reality of Dean's life had been more than the elder Winchester had ever experienced before.

It almost made him swear to himself to sit out the six weeks.

Almost...

That was three days ago.

A loud nicker drew his attention toward Sam and Homewrecker. The mare had stopped dead in her trot and was facing Sam, her head thrown high up in the air and looking down at him, but the quiet speech and gentle tugging of his little brother was coaxing the mustang closer. Sam draped the lunge line over his shoulder and made slow, careful motions with his hands, waving the mare forward with the smallest twitches of his fingers and hands. Homewrecker perked her ears forward and stepped cautiously to Sam, stretching until her nose touched Sam's palm. Usually she would jerk away, gallop to the end of the lunge line then stop and stare at Sam. The mare took a step closer than normal and sniffled in Sam's palm, lightly chewing on the edge of his hand. Dean felt warmth bubble in his chest when his brother smiled and very slowly pulled a chunk of sugar out of his pocket and offered it to the mare.

Homewrecker licked it off his palm but jumped back when Sam reached to pat her nose. Sam backed off a step. Homewrecker cocked her ears forward and took a step after him.

Even Elijah had admitted that Sam's rapid progress with the destroyed horse was remarkable. And while he was a good natured and easily humored and pleased man, Elijah wasn't easily impressed.

Dean never doubted him. Sam had always been a fast-- if not unnaturally geeky --learner on everything and anything he was introduced to and took interest in. And while breaking through to a dangerous and injured animal wasn't exactly college algebra, Sam grew by leaps and bounds. Dean just logged a natural horsemanship into one of the many things Sam was a master of without trying.

Dean tore his eyes away from his brother and back to Celia and the Arabian crossbreed she was taking in tight circles then lengthy figure eights. It was a smaller mare, another of the many painted horses on the Wounded Heart Ranch, her white spattered coat was red brown between and her long legs; mane and tail were pure black, turning her into a classic tri-colored paint mare. Celia had briefly mentioned her name was Sanuye, another Native American name, 'red sky at dawn' and another rescue from a slaughter pen.

Dean's eyes widened slightly when suddenly the smooth, close circles of the mare changed into pure seriousness; Celia straightened her spine and sat back in the saddle, tightening the reins. Sanuye dropped her head and slung out her neck. The mare snorted, tucked her rear legs deep under her hindquarters, her forelegs swung out, crossing over each other rapidly. Dirt flew up in clouds and clumps as Sanuye spun in place, like a pin jointed her hind-end to the ground, her fore-quarters whirl winding around the base.

Dean's mind spun, dizzy, and his stomach turned as he watched white, brown, black and blood red flash by.

Once he swore he caught Celia's eyes for a split second before her and Sanuye's faces swung away again.

The blur seemed to last forever then ended so abruptly it left Dean lightheaded. Sanuye and Celia faced him, standing so still it was like he'd imagined the spin all together.

The mare gave her head a little shake and a sigh as Celia leaned forward and patted her shoulder.

"What the Hell was that?" Sam asked, next to him Homewrecker had a similar look on her face and nickered softly in agreement.

"Reiner's spin," Celia said with a small, even sheepish smile. "Sanuye here was a reinin' horse for a little while before she retired to designated babysitter slash schooling horse, right babe?"

The tri-colored paint snorted.

"Been a while though... I won't try her on the skid stop, she's not wearin' boots and her joints aren't as good as they once were," Celia continued.

The mare tossed her head approvingly, nostrils flaring. A sharp whistle cut through the air, making Homewrecker lurch in place in surprise, whinnying sharply. The other horses lifted their heads and snorted.

The Winchesters and Celia turned their eyes toward the call. Elijah stood back, hands on his hips.

"Let's move on out here, y'all!" he called, lifting a hand to brush dust off his black button down shirt and silver bolo. The hand moved higher to rub the edge of the Stetson on his head... also black.

Sam instantly tightened his grip on the lead rope of Homewrecker's halter and started to lead her toward the gate.

"Leaver her there, Sam. It'll do her good," Elijah ordered.

Sam choked his hand up higher and smoothly unsnapped the shank hook from the Homewrecker's red halter. The mare followed him for a another step before veering off and breaking into a gallop toward the end of the paddock, snatching the attention of Honeycatcher, Blackbird and Chambeau before all three snorted and went back to grazing. Sam tugged off his T-shirt, hanging it on the fence line before extracting the black button down and slipping his arms through it and linking the buttons down his chest.

Dean pushed himself up stiffly, using the post and wire as a support, tangling his fingers in the wire until he was stiffly and painfully upright. He dusted himself off and reached for his own black button down shirt draped over the fence and carefully maneuvered it over his shoulders and white T-shirt.

"Y'all go on ahead," Celia said quietly.

Elijah hardened so fast he bared his teeth. "Girl, yer-- "

"I haven't taken a shower yet, Eli!" Celia barked back before her elder brother got a chance to lay into her.

"I'll be at the cemetery, all right?"

Elijah's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared out so much he looked like an angry bull.

"All right, Eli?" Celia snapped again.

"I'll make sure she gets there, Eli," Dean offered quietly, drawing a glare from Celia and a look from Sam.

"All right, make sure of it, little man," Elijah ordered. "Let's go, Sam."

The younger Winchester glanced back at his brother and Celia as he slipped through the gate and followed on the Marine's heels.

Celia sighed and glared over at Dean. "I don't need a baby-sitter, Winchester."

"Yeah, you do," Dean quipped and stepped over to open the gate, let her and Sanuye out, then shut it behind them. He followed them to the barn where Celia left the mare standing tied to her stall door. "What about the saddle?" he asked.

"Goin' to ride over to the cemetery, it ain't far." Celia shrugged and led the way across the yard up the steps. Dean hesitated, glancing over his shoulder and watched as the small horse buggy with his brother and the three Greers inside rolled down the road, pulled along by a large, black gelding. Dean turned back to climb the rest of the stairs behind the redhead and stepped into the kitchen where she lightly patted Buckshot and Valentine's heads before making her way upstairs, untangling the band in her hair and shaking it out. Dean continued on her heels, only breaking off to walk further down the hall when he realized he was going to follow her right into the shower. Dean opted to follow the hall into her room and eased himself stiffly down on her mattress. He waited for a few long seconds before easing himself down onto his back and draped his arm carefully across his stomach; letting his eyes drift shut, Dean carefully inhaled and exhaled, letting fresh air and the acidic scent of leather and horse sweat rub against his lungs and damaged ribs.

Slipping quietly deeper into unconsciousness... wisps of desert air and dust danced across the brown and white painted coat of the Chieftain. Dean forced his way back to the surface, blinking his eyes open and staring up at the ceiling and breathing thin air. He felt the mattress depress and the temperature drop a little, cold water evaporating.

"Are ya all right?"

Dean twitched green eyes toward her, tracking a drop of water as it fell away from darkened hair, rolled down her neck to settle in the hollow of her throat. His gaze finally lifted to her blood red orbs, the concern set low in her eyes and concentrated on him.

"Not really, but I will be... " Dean sighed and let his head fall back a little further, his gaze moving up from her eyes toward her horns. "Are those heavy?" he asked quietly. He reached up and touched the edge where her horn connected with her skull and hairline.

"More than they look," Celia responded quietly, scooting closer to his side. Her head tilted sideways into his hand.

"What's it like?"

Celia cocked her head slightly and blinked at him questioningly.

"Dad was possessed once, and Sam, too. What's it like... being possessed?"

Celia pondered for a second, trying to separate the internal difference between demon and human.

"Exhaustin'," she said finally. "It's like carryin' around another person, another whole weight that needs to be secure all the time. Everythin' is clearer mostly... colors, shapes, sounds, it's all in higher focus. I can hear yer heart beatin' through an oak door. But lots of things are dulled, too... "

"How do you mean?"

"Morally," Celia explained quietly. "It's harder to realize when enough is enough. It can go too far fast and easy. It always feels like ya have a backseat driver, whisperin' in yer ear what to do, how to do it and all the reasons why it's all right. I figure that someone just possessed is different, they feel trapped in their own body, but for me it's... different is all. I'm kind of miserable." Celia forced out a small smile and a chuckle at the last statement.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," Dean muttered. His hand slid down to the side of her head, lightly tangling in the damp hair, running his thumb across the sensitive skin of her ear. He smiled a little when she twitched, slightly ticklish.

"There's nothin' any of us could have done 'bout it, Dean... save what Nathaniel did to trap the damn thin'," Celia assured, lightly settling a hand on his hip. Dean lifted his pelvis up off the mattress and shifted over until his side pressed tightly into her hip. The contact eased some of the pain low in his torso. Celia smiled and lightly patted his thigh.

"It was a long time ago," Celia ground in the fact, hoping to break the guilt starting to build in Dean's chest for something he couldn't have stopped. "It's not as bad as ya think, Dean. It's been so long I can't tell ya what it would feel like without the influence-- "

"It's a parasite," Dean argued.

Celia sighed quietly.

"It's feeding off of you, _killing _you. You told me that before the griffons."

"I know... but Dean, ya have to understand, at the same time he's keepin' me alive. Ya honestly think that I could go very far if the bond was broken? I hate to admit it, but I need him as much as he needs me, and in all honesty? Better me than someone else. Stuck here, he can't hurt others."

Dean searched her face for a few seconds. "You're strong," he said simply.

Celia snorted softly, bitter shame in her voice. "Far from it-- "

"No, Celia-- " Dean pushed himself up to sit and look her in the eye. "All the trap does is make sure that this thing can't break loose and go romping around. Do you have any idea how much personal strength it takes to _actually bury_ something like that?"

"Yeah, Dean... I do."

It startled him into silence and he stared at her. Celia read his face, he'd clearly expected her to brush him off. She continued quietly, biting back the ugly taste of self hate. "Dean, I live it. Everyday. I've been exhausted all my life, I don't know 'peace'. And I appreciate yer flattery and everythin' but it's nothin' to get excited 'bout. It's just what's got to be done. I don't have a choice in it-- "

"Yes, you do!" Dean growled, cutting her off. "Celia, any second you wanted to you could roll over and give up, just let that thing take you over completely. But you fight it-- not just that, you _control_ it. It's pure, raw strength, mind and body... people don't just _have_ that kind of strength."

"Dean, I got the trap and all my trainin', I'm not some wonder woman, I need all the help I get-- " Shame tickled every word she said, threatening to boil over.

"That just makes you even stronger," Dean retorted. "That you know your limits and what to draw off of, what difference a little help makes and you know when to ask for it, most people get so caught up they forget that and it all goes to Hell."

Dean sighed loudly and ran a hand through his short, dark blonde hair and look pleadingly into her blood red eyes, trying to force any kind of self hatred and shame out of her eyes. His hands cupped against her jaw and gave her the smallest shake, making sure she was watching and listening to him.

"Celia, you're one of the strongest people I have ever met, ever known. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to struggle like you do and still have the energy it takes to live your life. I can't say I've met someone stronger."

Celia's gaze dropped and Dean knew she was already telling herself otherwise. He gave her a little shake, forcing her to look at him.

"Believe me, Celia," Dean ordered quietly.

"Dean-- "

"Stop being so ashamed of this!" Dean growled. "Everything you do-- fight this thing, run this ranch, you take care of your mom and sister and all those stupid animals out there, and you put up with your brother running off to war over and over. Hell, you put up with me and Sam when we were sick for almost a week and we never even got into a fist fight!"

Celia sniffed, a nose somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"You should be proud of it." Dean's hands dropped to rest on his thighs, his nails dug into his jeans and down into his skin. "And I'm sorry that I haven't been here, that I don't remember being here, to tell you that every day."

Celia sighed and smiled sadly at him. "I'm just... not, Dean... "

The elder Winchester sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair, then down to scrub his jaw. He knew it was a losing fight, but he swore to himself that everyday he saw her he would tell her the same thing. To be proud of herself. "I know you don't think it's your place to tell me what's happened to my memory, but I _need_ to remember what I'm missing here. I want to know everything that's happened to me on Wounded Heart."

"It's not my place-- "

"Then whose is it?" Dean asked.

Celia sighed heavily. "Ya could try the Chieftain, he's the highest power in this region. But it's not safe... he's... violent... "

"I thought you'd say something like that," Dean muttered and eased himself back down to the pillows and mattress. He groaned a little in pain when he shifted.

"Ya don't have to go, Dean, ya can sit here and sleep," Celia assured gently.

Dean shook his head. "I'll be alright, just need a minuet."

"Ya need a month accordin' to the Doc." Celia shook her head. "Why don't ya stay and take it easy, all right?"

Dean took a deep breath and sighed loudly. "All right," he muttered and slumped deeper into the mattress. He kept his eyes on Celia, watching as she dressed in a black shirt and a jean skirt-- even going so far as to put in a pair of silver stud earrings --and tugged on a pair of brown and black leather boots.

"Be back in an hour or two, Dean. Eat anythin' ya want, ya know the drill."

Dean grunted and watched as she stepped out of the room, half shutting the door behind her. Dean waited until he heard the screen door shutting in the kitchen then pushed himself up and walked stiffly toward the hall, following it to the window that looked out over the front yard; he leaned against the frame and pressed his forehead into the glass, watching as Celia and Sanuye trotted out of the yard, the former sitting a careful side-saddle in her skirt. The paint mare trotted down the road and out of Dean's sight. He waited a few long seconds before making his way down to the mud and laundry room, then he dug into the dryer and extracted a T-shirt to trade his black button down for, then slipped out of black shoes into hiking boots.

Buckshot and Valentine watched warily as Dean stiffly crossed to the kitchen and stepped out into the yard and crossed toward the large paddock. The two Shepherds glanced at each other, then lunged up to their paws, shoved open the door and galloped out after him. Dean opened and slipped through the gate and stepped stiffly toward the buckskin stud, Blackbird.

Celia had mentioned that Blackbird was one of the oldest horses in Tuscarora, that she had trained and ridden him as a colt when she was seven years old, with Nathaniel and Elijah's help, of course. She'd said Blackbird was the boss horse, the lead of their herd.

The buckskin lifted his head and swung around to look at Dean. The elder Winchester hesitated for a couple seconds before clearing his throat. The stud cocked his ears forward when Dean started to speak.

"Blackbird... " he hesitated, wondering if it was sane to speak to a horse like they were a person. Celia seemed to do it enough and they seemed to understand. " ...I need help."

Dean blinked when the large buckskin swung his body around to face him instead of standing with his rear toward Dean and head twisted back. The horse lifted his head, cocked his ears forward and snorted softly. Everything about the horse seemed to tell Dean to go on, that he was listening full attention.

"I... Blackbird, I need to find the Chieftain."

The stud's ears pinned back and he snorted loudly.

"I need to... know... can you find him?"

Blackbird's ears swayed and he nickered under his breath, not too far away Honeycatcher lifted his head and whinnied at the buckskin; Blackbird's head swung around and he snorted loudly at the cremello. The other stud's ears cocked forward and he looked surprised before carefully limping over to stand at Blackbird's shoulder and look at Dean.

"You don't have to tell everybody... " Dean muttered, glaring at Blackbird. The buckskin snorted. "Listen, I need to talk to the Chieftain, if anybody can get me there I figure it would be you. I need your help."

The buckskin snorted and curled his lip, shaking his head for a few seconds before heaving a massive sigh and stepping toward him. Dean backed up and stepped out of the way as Blackbird walked toward the gate and stood waiting. Dean stepped over, opened the pipe gate and let the stud pass through, then slipped out after him, shutting it behind.

The stud stood waiting for Dean to make his next move.

"I'm hurt, Blackbird, I can't just hop up there," Dean grumbled. The horse snorted and stepped over to stand next to the pipe gate, squaring up his stance and waiting.

"What?" Dean asked.

The buckskin side stepped, lifted a hoof to paw at the gate, then stepped back to stand square.

"All right, I get it... " Dean muttered, squeezing between the horse and carefully climbing up to the gate until he could easily just swing his leg over Blackbird's shoulder and slide onto his back. Dean flinched in pain when his ribs and stitches settled into place. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his hands tightly into the

coarse black mane of the stud.

Honeycatcher lifted his chin over the top of the gate and nickered at them. Dean shook his head at the stallion. A sharp bark and Dean looked over Blackbird's shoulder down at Buckshot and Valentine. The two dogs whined and yapped loudly, clearly wanting him to get down.

"Go fetch a stick, boys," Dean muttered and squeezed his knees into the buckskin's sides, signaling to the horse he was ready. Blackbird snorted once again and broke into a quick trot, crossing the yard and sliding through a gate into open pasture and wild land. The dogs galloped after them, barking for attention, Dean half felt like they were pleading with Blackbird instead of trying to get Dean's head straight. The buckskin snorted and-- hitting open grassland --broke into a smooth gallop, leaving the Shepherds in the dust.

The dogs skidded, dancing nervously in place at the open gate. Buckshot snarled and snapped at his albino counterpart. Valentine whined loudly and tucked his tail. Buckshot snarled and snapped at him, driving the younger dog down the road toward the cemetery. Valentine whined again until Buckshot looked ready to savage him, then galloped toward the graveyard.

Growling, Buckshot tore after Blackbird and Dean, his hair bristling up on his neck and shoulders.

Dean girt his teeth and hardened himself against the pain, at least Blackbird wasn't tearing at break neck speed in a river canyon, the gallop was smoother, the impact of hooves on earth was softer, less jarring than he remembered. But it was still a gallop. Dean squeezed himself tightly around the stud horse, clinging tightly and hoping that it would lessen any movement he was subject to. Dean didn't watch the land rush by, he listened and felt it, he was able to build a picture of their trail behind him like a photograph in his mind, from the way that Blackbird moved, his pace and speed.

Blackbird slowed and tucked in his rear end when he was moving down hill, his steps shortened when he made a turn left but lengthened when he swung right. The horses' weight lunged forward in jarring lurches at an uphill gallop. The horse's speed always quickened on flat land, Dean even began to recognize by the touch the tightening of the muscle in the neck and shoulders when Blackbird was readying to make a jump over some small obstacle.

Dean understood why the horse was considered a symbol of the land. Everything the animal did just to move was designed and reacted around how they felt, saw and traveled over solid ground and unstable water.

A bareback horse was better than a topographical map.

Dean drifted in an out of an unconscious and conscious state, he could feel Blackbird's sweat soaking into his clothes and slicking across his skin, mixing with his own sweat. Time and distance blurred together and ended so suddenly Dean found himself unable to actually lift his head and torso from wrapped around the buckskin's neck.

Dean pried himself away and sat up stiffly, peeling one arm away from Blackbird's lathered neck and shoulder to wrap lightly around his aching side, he panted along with the horse looking around him. It was the same terrain of his vision nightmares. Scrub brush growing in clumps in red brown earth and rock. Blue sky dotted with gray threatening storm clouds, far off the ridges of stone and clay cliffs and hills, rock formations of striped earth tones.

Dean looked around and pressed himself closer to Blackbird, glad that for the first time in this world between earth and spirit he wasn't alone.

"This is it, huh?"

Blackbird snorted, shifting his weight before breaking into a easy trot towards one of the rock formations, hooves crunched in the earth and crushed brush with soft crackles and pops. The temperature dropped sharply as they passed into the lee of the great stone, the shadow casting a blanket of icy shade over the already cool desert. Slowing his pace the stud horse walked along the wind shaped walls of the formation. Dean's eyes followed streaks of color in the sand stone, pinks, dark brows, yellows and others.

The elder Winchester ducked his head as the horse stepped under a bridge of stone, practically hugging Blackbird as they traveled deeper into the formation. Dean's grip tightened suddenly when Blackbird stepped around a corner and continued along a narrow path of stone in the formation. His heart dropped and he stared down over the side of the horse. What should have been sea level earth dropped vertically into a cavern carved into the gut of the sandstone formation, a sheer wall drop under the narrow ledge and the buckskin's hooves. Looking across he could barely see the far wall of the cliff drop, it blurred together all as one color and only the deepest gouges in the wall stood out as shadows. Far below he could hear the churning of water in the cavern.

Taking a shaking breath and feeding off the calm, even disinterested attitude, of the horse under him, Dean settled his jangling nerves and allowed the horse to finish the favor he'd started for the elder Winchester.

Blackbird followed nimbly on the tightrope of a ledge and turned into a tunnel in the formation wall, quickening his pace on more solid ground. Actually picking up to a trot. The earth sloped, dropping under ground. Dean started to shiver as cold bit into his skin and crept under to his bones and joints. Dean shifted his weight back to make the buckskin stud more comfortable as the horse's weight and steps shifted backwards. Long front legs stepping out, settling on the earth and locking into the earth as the rear quarter danced and scooted under his weight to keep him upright and on solid footing.

Minuets crept by and Dean started to get nervous, the air in caves and tunnels turned stale as they went deeper. The build up of fungus growth and rot and decaying organisms. The air in the formation was dry, cool but dry. He could feel Blackbird's hooves sliding and shifting, the soft sounds of rocks and bits of broken shale dancing across the formation floor. It had to be made mostly of sand, the way that Blackbird's hooves sank into it.

The earth leveled out and the Blackbird's paces evened again but slowed more. Dean's green eyes adjusted to the dim light in the area, drinking in the little details he could. His attention roamed over the rock walls. He couldn't see the color changes, the years stacked in stone, but the mall casts of much darker shadows stood out and made the otherwise flat wall change into carved and relief shapes. Dean felt his heart sink and his stomach tighten uncomfortably.

The markings on the walls were the same that had been painted across his torso in his nightmare a week earlier. The tribal designs of curves and angels, small images of animals and people. The remains of something bigger than himself and the buckskin he was riding.

The carvings trailed along the wall, ending in a large design Dean could not mistake.

A painted horse.

Blackbird stopped dead in his tracks next to the carving. The stud lifted his head and swung it around until his nose brushed the rock. He snorted, the sound of it and dust washing over the rock face echoed for a second before fading into silence.

Dean sighed loudly and slumped. "You're kidding me…this is it?"

Blackbird shifted his weight and nickered softly.

"Great…Chieftain. Got it. Thanks." Dean grumbled, clearly forlorn and thinking it had been a waste of time. "At least you did what I asked."

Dean nearly toppled to the ground when the horse moved forward again, walking across the sandy floor towards end of the tunnel. Dean went back on the defensive, tensing and waiting for anything. He jumped slightly when the earth gave in suddenly and a loud splash echoed across the walls.

Dean's grip tightened and fear budded in his stomach for a few long seconds. The last time he'd been bare back on a horse they'd both nearly been killed. Blackbird sloshed loudly through the dark water, ripples catching the little light and creating streaks of white in a sheet of black glass.

Blackbird continued to wade deeper into the water, Dean's eyes cast down as a soft green blue glow rippled to the surface under them. The water churned under Blackbird's hooves bubbled to the surface. Dean searched his mind for an explanation, supernatural or otherwise, racing through his mind, searching and practically begging for an answer in his archive of knowledge.

"Phosphorous." Dena muttered under his breath, unable to help himself, he bent and reached to brush his fingers through the water, making the clouds of water flicker and flash brilliantly. Of all things that flooded through his mind he traced back to a chemistry class in one of many high schools. One of few teachers Dean liked enough to remember had lit a dark class room with a small bowl of water thick with smoky clouds of blue green phosphorous.

His normally short attention span had been so enraptured by the lesson Dean had gone out of his way to find natural sites. The phosphorous springs in India and Indonesia and other far eastern countries that were supposed to heal the soul. Mile deep caverns where spelunkers didn't need lanterns. And a cavern spring in Nevada.

"I thought Devil's Hole was a hundred miles from here." Dean muttered.

Blackbird snorted softly, making the water churn more as it rose, swirling up over Dean's legs to his knees and then halfway up this thighs. Blackbird stopped wading and lifted his head high over the water, nickering softly.

Dean glanced around and felt his blood freeze.

"Oh crap…" His mind whirled back to the haze of nightmares and fevers over a week before, those first days of pain and heat flooding back to his systems and the vivid nightmare of the cavern and black glass water. Led to the heart of a rock formation by a crow…a black bird…

"I walked right into this one." Dean growled, going on the defensive and keeping part of his attention on the water and the rest searching for the walls of the formation, seeing them when the reflection of the green blue water danced across the walls. Dean started to shiver as the temperature dropped around them.

The churned phosphorous started to fade and cold darkness crept back in on Dean and Blackbird. The large stud lifted his head higher and let out a soft whinny. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, the darkness closing in completely and echoed off the walls, rattling down to his bones and joints.

Dean ground his teeth together and tightened his grip on Blackbird's mane at a loud splash somewhere far out in front of them. Water churned and the phosphorous clouded up fifty yards away, a large shape wading through the water towards them.

Blackbird shifted nervously in place and eased back a step, stirring up his own glowing trail, when an answering nicker cut across the icy water. Dean swallowed dryly and settled a reassuring hand on the buckskin's shoulder as the equine shape took more definition and for the first time in what felt like hours color bit into Dean's vision as the red brown overo waded towards them.

The spectral stallion stopped several yards out, large blue eyes reflecting the phosphorous. The large animal snorted and pawed at the water with a fore hoof. His leg crashed through the water, churning up more light from the pool. The god's ears were pinned back and neck arched deeply. Dean easily read all the body language. The animal was agitated, probably angry. He had to be careful. Water was a good substance to slow the horse down from charging at them. But it would probably slow Blackbird down faster than a god.

"Heard you were the big guns around here, Chieftain." Dean said quietly, but his voice was amplified, echoing loudly and making the Chieftain go still in the water. The stallions head lifted and nostrils flared, blue eyes locking on Dean. Blackbird let out a twisted groan and backed away a few steps.

"I keep hearing you're the one to talk to. So here I am."

The god remained motionless in the water, his outline starting to fade as the phosphorous settled back into the black glass water.

"I want my memories back." Dean's voice hardened and strengthened. "I have a feeling you have 'em. So turn 'em over. All of them."

A low snort rippled out of the Chieftain's nose.

_You… accuse me… of theft…_

The voice echoed in Dean's brain, prickling and ice cold, washing over the surface of his brain. He felt his teeth chatter and his breath freeze in his lungs, like a layer of frost on the surface of his lungs. The voice sounded centuries old, cracked and creaking, even wheezing with age. It rattled and rasped making Dean feel like he was a thousand years older than twenty eight.

Dean shook himself of the chill and swallowing heavily soldiered on, speaking slowly. "What I've learned is that gods, if you really are one, are more likely to be thieves than anything else…" The elder Winchester felt his teeth rattling as he spoke. "Stop trying to screw with me and give my memories back…my brother's too."

The cavern echoed with his voice for a few long seconds before silence rattled off the walls.

_No… go away and forget Hunter…_

Dean's eyes flashed up and locked on the god. His jaw grit, muscles tightening. "What the Hell do you mean 'go and forget'?"

_Men do not… leave the land… the land leaves men…_

The ice water washed over Dean's brain and spine for the third time. He fought the cold for a few long minuets. Trying to understand what he'd been told.

"You're saying that if I leave I won't remember…it's a curse…" Dean snarled, his temper flaring at the pure idea of lack of control. The Chieftain didn't even shift his weight in the water. Simply blinked large blue eyes in the dark, the only thing catching light in the dark.

"What the fuck did you do?" Dean spat, his eyes going almost totally lifeless in the rage boiling under his flesh.

_Sent… you away…_

The Chieftain snorted quietly, the water around his nostrils rippling and churning, sparks of phosphorous bursting under the surface before fading.

"Why?!" Dean screamed, his temper getting the best of him. The buckskin horse lurched in the water, spooking at his voice cracking off the walls like a crack of thunder.

_I don't want you here… you cause… problems… dust and death in wake… you don't remember… you don't come back…_

"That's already wrong, I'm here now aren't I?" Dean snarled, glad to have something to cut in with. "I don't care about your fucking curse, I won't let it happen. I won't forget again."

_Then these boarders are your prison…_

"Seems like a good enough place to settle down, don't think Sam will have a problem staying put and Celia'll like it." Dean argued back, shaking harder now as the cold threatened to dig into his heart.

The Chieftain's ears pinned back and his lips curled, snarling.

_You're name is Ahote… your soul restless… the walls will be too much one day… then you'll have nothing… cursed you will stay… go away… and be content with you're rotting mind…_

The large god swung his frame around and splashing through the flashing water towards the pit of darkness again. Fear coiled in with the cold. Pressing in around him. Somewhere his soul screamed the truth, it agreed with the god, he knew a corner when he was backed into one. He couldn't let his memory be stripped and eaten away, or be left here with the painted god to toy with.

"Wait!"

The god's head swung around to look over his shoulder at Dean.

"Just wait…please-"

_I do not bargain…_

…

"He's insane! I'll kill him if the damn god doesn't," Celia snarled under her own breath, loading her Model 70 Winchester rifle before handing it to Sam. The younger Winchester looked pale and kept glancing at the albino German Shepherd dancing in place and desperate for them to hurry. "And Blackbird for being a damn fool to take him." Celia loaded cartridges into a Remington deer rifle.

Sam could see her hands shivering, terrified about what was happening. Sam felt the same fear, but only because she did. Valentine barked, glancing at the barn door and trying hard not to blot out. He waited a few more long seconds as Sam and Celia each grabbed a knife each. Celia grabbed Sanuye's reins and Sam the bridle of the quickly tacked up Cottoneye Cloud. The large palomino knowing it was a different kind of work looked ready to gallop from a stand. Still in their dress from the funeral they dragged the horses into the yard and made to mount.

Sam glanced over his shoulder.

"Dean!"

Celia's head snapped around so fast her neck cracked. Sam tossed Cotteneye Cloud's reins over his saddle, dropped the rifle and raced to his slowly approaching brother. The elder Winchester looked up, dusty, tired and walking stiffly with the buckskin horse and black and tan German Shepherd on his heels. Celia dropped her own weapon and tore after Sam. The younger man grabbed the shoulders of his brother and gave him a quick once over. His clothes damp and there was a chill in his skin but Dean seemed whole.

"Take it easy, Sammy," Dean muttered, trying to shake off his little brother.

"Dean, what the Hell were you thinking running off alone!? You're half-dead already!" Sam gave him a little shake.

"I'm fine, Sam, I'm sorry. Stop it already." Dean brushed him off and stepped away, right into the redhead.

"Celia... I-- "

She silenced him with a sharp slap across his face. The older man stumbled back, staring at her in shock, lifting a hand to rub his cheek.

"Were ya tryin' to get yerself killed!?" Celia snarled, her eyes flashing and lined with tears of relief, rage and still lingering fear. "Are ya tryin' to make me kill myself worryin' 'bout yer sorry hide!?"

"Celia, I'm sorry-- "

"I couldn't survive ridin' out there and findin' yer carcass!"

"I'm sorry," Dean pleaded, reaching out, snagging her wrist. She wrenched away from him. Dean pursued, grabbing her arm a second time and pulling her in, wrapping her up against his chest while she choked back crying.

"I'm sorry... both of you... " Dean looked purposefully over at Sam, the younger Winchester glared at him for a second before sighing and nodding in acceptance. "I'm sorry... "

He waited until Celia's shivers had subsided before he loosened his grip, giving the redhead room to move, but she only clung tighter to him. "What the Hell were ya doin'?" Celia rasped out.

"Trying to go remember," Dean sighed, lightly tangling his fingers in her russet hair and keeping his eyes on Sam.

"Did it work?" the younger Winchester asked quietly.

Dean filled his chest tiredly and swallowed thickly. "Yes and no... "

**Damn, been forever...oh well, we're near the end here, leave commnts!**


	39. Ground Work

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.**

**All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!**

**Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!**

**MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA ~SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies! DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!**

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**Hey all! Sorry this took so long. I refused to put anything up without Sierra doing a once over first. She's finally settled on her new deployment and we're in good contact now so in the next week or so this should be all tied up. Thanks for waiting and being patient! **

**Mary T.**

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**Like Us, But On Horse Back**

"**Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."**

**-Friedrich Nietzsche**

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**Chapter Thirty Nine: Ground Work**

"**Worry a little bit everyday and in a lifetime you will lose a couple of years. If something is wrong, fix it if you can. But train yourself not to worry. Worrying never fixes anything."**

**- Mary Hemingway**

…

"Good girl." Sam said quietly, he lightly patted the painted mare's jaw. Homewrecker snorted but stood still, casually swishing her tail and looking downright lazy.

"C'mon." Sam encouraged and gave the lead rope a soft tug and started walking. Homewrecker balked slightly, leaning her weight back and groaning uncomfortable at the saddle across her back and the girth and breast collar strapped across her gut and chest. Sam stopped moving, dug into his pocket and offered her a horse treat.

Homewrecker narrowed her eyes at Sam like he was a traitor before stepping forward to take the treat. Sam gave it up and patted her neck before giving another gentle tug and walking again. Homewrecker snorted and followed quietly on his heels. Sam smiled to himself and glanced around. He noticed Celia leaning against the pipe fencing where the small band of wild Nakotas chewed at a couple of hay bales and swatted flies off their hides.

Sam led Homewrecker across the yard towards her and stopped at her side. Celia twitched her attention towards the younger brother, lifting her chin off crossed arms on the pipe rail of the gate.

"Hey, Red."

"Sammy. She's lookin' real good." Celia complimented the painted mare standing half asleep behind him. The younger man smiled brightly and patted the mare's nose.

"It's been rough the last couple days. Getting the saddle on. It's going to take twice as long with a bit and bridle."

"It's the cleanest trainin' I've seen in a while. Ya got a talent for it, Sam. Ya keep workin' on her like that and she'll sell easy to a family with kids."

"I won't sell her." Sam said resolutely. Celia nodded and turned her attention back to the mustangs.

"'Course not."

Sam quirked a half smile then looked towards the wild horses. One of the three mares, a bay, stepped over to stick her head through the fence at Homewrecker. The painted horse twitched her ears and lifted her head to touch noses before jerking her head back and going back to standing like a half asleep lump. Homewrecker lifted and turned a hind leg back on her hoof in a rest position and chewed casually on nothing. Sam stretched a hand towards the bay and jumped when the mare jerked away and swiftly jogged back to join the rest of Honeycatcher's stolen family.

"What's going too happened to them?" Sam asked. "You guys can't keep them all, right?"

"No." Celia sighed, "Can't keep any of them. It's so friggin' illegal what I'm doin' right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Havin' 'em here. My stud stole 'em from some band stallion, what you're supposed to do is yank your horse out of there and forget about 'em. Some other stallion will eventually pick them up. But with the slim pickin's around since the griffons moved in and this bad stormy weather it didn't work out that way and they tried to stick with 'Catcher."

"Why?"

"'Cause he's safe, he's a strong stallion, smart, resourceful and has no hesitation to lead them up into farm lands to feed off hay bales and grain because he's a domestic, he's a good father, _loves_ it when there are foals around here in the spring and plays with them day in and day out. To put it simply he's 'Mr. Right'."

Sam nodded, and glanced to where the cremello stud was grazing and healing quietly in a paddock with Blackbird, Chambeau and a few other Wounded Heart horses.

"Why give up a good thing." Sam agreed.

"Yep."

"So what's going to happen?"

"Well, 'cause that mare is probably pregnant by 'Catcher, I'm responsible for the foal, especially if it comes out pale…"

"Guess thay would prove it." Sam muttered.

"Anyway, when a domestic gets mixed up in a mustang band usually ya just yank 'em and a band stallion will take over in a hurry. But this Nakota lead mare, that blue roan, didn't want to play by the rules and came after 'Catcher. So there's two ways this can go through. One, turn 'em all but the blue roan loose and leave a relatively young band without their boss stallion _or_ mare witch is pretty much a guarantee that they'll be torn apart. Which would suck 'cause they're _all_ Nakotas. And if I kept the mare in and she foaled I would have to wait until it's weaned before I turn her loose and have to keep the foal anyway…which is like another ten months from now and make sure I don't try and do anythin' to domesticate her, which is impossible because she's goin' to be in a herd of domestics, fed by hand and surrounded by fences…"

She sounded bitter and exhausted as she spoke, a bitterness fed by sarcasm and annoyance.

"How long is a pregnancy?"

"Three hundred days, 'bout ten months give or take, she's five in so another five and then another half a year to wean the foal out."

Sam nodded grimly. "What's the second option?"

"Give up five of _my_ Nakotas to the North-South Dakota effort to add to their herd so I don't have to worry 'bout 'Catcher runnin' to steal 'em again but there's that factor of the mare slippin'."

"Slipping?"

"Abortin' the foal. Which would be _bad_ 'cause she's so far along. But I'm not even thinkin' 'bout that right now 'cause I _can't_ loose any Nakotas. It's my _job _to make sure that I have a strong and healthy herd of Nakotas and mustangs. Not to send them off to foreign states 'cause there's a hitch like this."

"Are there any other options?"

"BLM sale and I pay for the blue roan mare and foal, rest of the band gets dispersed. Again. Not what I want to happen."

"Sounds like you can't win on this one, Red." Sam muttered.

"Yeah, seems that way…I'll figure somethin' out, or the Nevada BLM will for me."

Sam gave a small huff that sounded like a laugh. Celia twitched her eyes towards him.

"What?"

"I just remembered…that was the whole reason we came out here. Dean said there was an article about weird weather and predators killing horses so we came to check it out and the Impala broke down and we were frying in the sun when you came to rescue us…it seems like that happened a hundred years ago."

Celia's brow furrowed. "He never said why he wanted to check it out, why the article caught his eye?"

Sam shook his head. "Mentioned it might be the demon, that's how Dad was tracking it, electrical storms and livestock killings."

Celia looked back into the paddock, her brow knit together in concentration. "Huh…" She muttered.

"Where is Dean, anyway?" Sam asked, looking around the yard paddocks and round pens.

"He said he was cleanin' and packin' up yer gear." Celia's tone was emotionless as she said it, hiding the bitter loss in her voice. "But 'bout an hour ago I saw him walkin' up the drive towards town. He might be getting' a cup of coffee or somethin'."

Sam grunted in return, then sighed.

"Try honey on the bit, Sam." Celia advised and pushed away from the gate heading towards the barn. Sam watched her walk away.

…

Celia slid down out of the saddle and lightly secured the red roan appaloosa's reins to the hitch post out side of Rosa General. Strawbury nickered nervously shifting in place before settling when Celia patted his shoulder. She touched her hat in respect towards the two retired Hunters and pastor sitting on the bench outside the store.

"Hey, Red, haven't seen ya in a few days." One of the older men chuckled quietly, stopping the red head in her tracks. She turned to look at the grizzled wolf of a man with sharp, chocolate eyes.

"Hey Mr. Carson." Celia smiled slightly.

"Ya need to start callin' me John, Red. It'm startin' to feel old, no use remindin' me. Right Chester?" Carson nudged the graying blonde man next to him.

Chester grinned, sporting a few missing teeth and making the scars along his jaw and throat twist and tighten.

"Sounds 'bout right, John." Chester sighed and lifted a hand to scratch at his ear.

"Hey Padre." Celia nodded towards the priest. Bill Cormac turned his attention from the two Hunters and smiled gently at Celia, she'd always like this priest more than any other the small town had during her life. Cormac was a quieter soul than most, had his fair share of Hunts and knew the importance of religious diversity. He was ordained in just about every accepted, and some not so main stream, religions. You were just as likely to here a Buddhist proverb slip out of his mouth as you were a Christian blessing.

"Red, you seem in good form for today."

Celia perked a little at the odd declaration, "What do ya mean?"

"He means that Winchester boy walked in there fit to be tied." Chester ground out, his voice was a little twisted and rough from some Hunt gone wrong in his earlier days.

Celia twisted and looked into the wide open doors of the store and spotted Dean sitting at the far end of the counter, fiddling with a half drunk milk shake. She sighed loudly, wrinkling her nose before setting her hands on her hips.

"Thanks boys." Celia dipped her head and stepped into the slightly cooler air of the store and walked towards the end of the counter.

"What do ya want, Red?" Millie Lynch asked from behind the counter.

"What he's got." Celia motioned towards Dean as she continued to walk his direction. Dean stiffly lifted his head, caught her eye before dropping his gaze just as quickly again.

"How's it goin'?" Celia asked quietly, sliding in to sit next to him.

Dean sighed heavily and wrinkled his nose. "Slow."

Celia chewed on the inside of her cheek and fought back an urge to lash out at him. The whole situation was still to raw. His running off to the Chieftain had scared and hurt her. She went with the whole reason that she'd come to find him in the first place.

"What made ya read that article and call me that mornin'?" Celia asked quietly. Dean lifted his gaze and cocked an eyebrow at her. He thought for a second, then shifted to dig into his pocket and pulled out the slightly dented Colt shell casing and held it up.

"A shell?" Celia's head cocked to the side and narrowed her eyes.

"It's from the Colt revolver. I put it down and it rolled on top of the article and stopped." Dean shrugged, feeling a little stupid for the reason. He's easily gotten used to the idea of being casual and honest in the public of the Tuscaroran people. Even spurred on by listening to older and active Hunters in and out of town chatting, one upping and teaching other with their war stories and experiences. Dean had even been spurred on once or twice to add his own narrative of a Hunt similar to the ones being shared.

It was strange, the communal feeling that wrapped around Tuscarora. Dean could only explain it as a brotherhood bonded and strengthened by similar experiences, similar traumas and triumphs.

Dean understood why everyone seemed friendly and calm, where else were Hunters supposed to find a safe place they could possibly live, possibly have a family, even just having friends was hard for the nomadic nature of the Hunter. Here, you never seemed far from a buddy that would happily listen to your sufferings and help you through.

It was as close a paradise as any Hunter could pray for.

"Huh. Makes sense. Thanks, Millie." Celia sadi, breaking Dean from his thoughts and accepted the slip of paper with a hand written bill and large glass filled with thick milk shake. The woman nodded quietly and turned her attention back to Dean.

The elder Winchester lifted his gaze again, "What?"

"Ya know that feelin' that when yer all used up, exhausted, ya just want to go home?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean shrugged, setting the shell on the counter next to him. He didn't admit that he'd been feeling like that for the last few months. He hadn't been sleeping, exhaustion had gotten the better of him and he'd resorted to substance abuse. Falsified prescriptions and bottle snaked off hospital shelves that had been confiscated by Celia at some point while he was sweating out heat stroke and going through withdrawal. He was glad that Wounded Heart had broken the cycle. He'd hated being dependent, hated being exhausted and waiting for the day Sam found him without a heart beat.

He was tired, stripped down to his bones physically and emotionally, hurt in more ways than one and in a lot of pain but he didn't feel that same exhaustion. The used up feeling Celia had mentioned had faded almost completely.

"Same way with somethin' that's got old magic like that in it. Bullets been fired, there's no use for the shell anymore so it was waitin' to find a reason to get home, I guess."

"Here?"

"The silver it's made from is out of Blackriver Canyon, before the vein went dead."

Dean nodded and flicked his eyes towards the shell.

"Yeah…does make sense…"

"Sometimes ya can go home, it's just a matter if ya make it."

"If you have a home to go to." Dean muttered, this tone tinged with bitterness.

Celia shook her head a little, "Dean-"

He looked out at her through his lashes, keeping his head down.

"-yer always welcome here. This town is only for people like us."

Dean lifted his head. "You said 'us'."

"So?"

"You're calling yourself a Hunter. When we first talked about this you kept saying you weren't a Hunter. Now you're calling yourself one."

Celia flicked her blood colored eyes towards the ceiling for a few seconds, considering his words. A small smile crossed Dean lips, he felt like he'd won.

"Maybe I'm callin' ya an equestrian." Celia quipped back. Dean's face fell a little. Celia felt the fall in his emotions. "What?" She asked gently.

"I'm no rider." Dean muttered.

"Where that Hell do ya get that idea?" Celia scoffed.

"I'm not good at it like you and Sam. I struggle, it's hard for me." Dean growled, his face starting to tinge red in frustration and embarrassment. "Why the Hell do Hunters like horses so much anyway?"

"What do ya mean?" Celia asked gently, she knew this was a nerve for Dean by the way his shoulders had tightened up and how his fists closed as he worked the muscles in his hands.

"I mean as far as I know this is the only Hunter town in the states. Everyone here is a Hunter or related some way. Everyone has horses. Why? What's the point?"

Celia sighed and looked around a little, chewing on the inside of her cheek before sucking in a deep breath.

"Same reason people who aren't on the Hunt like horses." Celia explained. Dean's green eyes flicked in her direction. "Because of what they are. Someone that trusts ya, needs ya, and someone ya need and ya trust. Someone ya can always count on and expect to take care of ya, even protect ya. But for Hunters it's more than that."

Dean lifted his eyebrows, inviting her to go on.

Celia took a breath and continued quietly. "There haven't always been cars."

Dean's jaw slid and locked into place, he resisted the urge to snap a smart remark at her. Anyone else he would have, but for Celia he ignored the feeling.

"But there have been Hunters since…God…since before written history. Five thousand years ago…since Saint Michael-"

"The patron Saint of police and soldiers? What about him?" Dean snorted.

"He was the first Hunter." Celia pressed gently. "Some us believe he was, when Hell made war on Heaven he was the only human to step up and take his place as the general of God's armies-"

"And killed 'Satan'." Dean said sarcastically. "So?"

"He didn't do just that." Celia growled quietly. "When he slaughtered Satan he scattered the horde across Earth. God tried to call him to paradise but Michael refused. He'd set evil on his people and his world. He turned his back on Heaven to travel across the world, seeking them out and bringing them down one by one."

Dean chewed his bottom lip, trying to fit the story somewhere in his mind so it made sense. It did, somehow.

"He was the first Hunter…" Dean said quietly.

"And he was alone. 'Cept for a little black horse." Celia gave a small shrug. "Others followed in his path, and so there were Hunters."

Dean rubbed a fist across his nose but didn't speak.

"Hunters are nomads, a travelin' breed and a lonely one for what's more. Hunters don't like other Hunters, they're territorial and protective 'cause they understand the danger they're in lettin' themselves in league with others. The risk. But a thousand miles ya eat up walkin', will eat ya up in turn. Turned to the easiest way to get 'round faster. The horse, what the Hunter didn't expect out of the bargain was someone that cared 'bout him, that he could care 'bout, that broke up the loneliness that can eat a man's soul in this trade. A friend."

Dean shifted in his seat and rolled his jaw a little. He understood a little more. 'Friend' was a foreign concept, it was slung around almost carelessly, dubbed on anyone that Dean had known more than a few days and hadn't tried to kill him or his little brother. So thrown around that it had little meaning. He wondered what it was like for a Hunter a hundred years ago, a thousand, none of them connected the way Hunters were now. Now there were ways to contact and find each other in need or even just to check up, see if your buddies were still alive. He wondered how the loneliness and displacement that Dean and Sam and other modern day Hunters felt compared to centuries passed pacing and racing hundreds of miles of uninhabited land. Not even small towns or gas stations or truck stops to rest in for a few minuets to reconnected with human kind and civilization. To be surrounded by land that you knew was dangerous, not only from other people that would hunt you out, kill you or just leave you to die.

The only one and thing you could count on was your horse.

Celia seemed to read his thoughts and spoke quietly. "It's one of the great love affairs… Hunters and horses." She smiled slightly.

Dean sighed and drank half of Celia's milkshake and nudged it away.

"I'm still not any good at it…" He muttered, clearly distraught. "I mean I almost killed Honeycatcher, tore Blackbird up, almost got Chambue sick…"

"Yer just a different kind of rider is all." Celia pressed gently, stopping his tangent. After a few seconds of silence she dung in her pocket and dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter next to the two glasses of milkshake Dean had emptied. She gently tugged on the shoulder of his flannel shirt.

"C'mon." She slid off the stool and started towards the door. Dean followed dutifully at her heels, moving a little easier than the last few days. His ribs were healing up, slowly, but surely.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, easing himself stiffly across the veranda and down the stairs towards Strawbury tied to the hitch post.

"Goin' to find yer horse sense." Celia assured, untying the roan appaloosa and draping his reins across the back of her neck, making it clear that she was going to walk the slow way back to Wounded Heart at Dean's side.

"How?" Dean asked several miles down the main dirt road when Wounded Heart came into view.

"With the pond." Celia explained.

Dean's green eye narrowed slightly, cocking his eyebrow up.

…

"Kick off yer shoes, Dean." Celia called to him.

The elder Winchester shifted on the worn wood of the dock.

"C'mon Dean, this is the best way to do it. I promise ya'll be alright." Celia coaxed, shifting in the water. She backed up, moving further out and away from the dock and bank of the pond. The dark water, chilled by the swiftly cooling Nevada autumn, sloshed over hr clothes, darkening them and sticking them to her frame.

Dean cast his eyes back over his shoulder towards his little brother two hundred yards away. Sam pretended to have no interest as he encouraged Homewrecker to trot in a smooth wide circle on a lunge line. The painted mare's pace was lurched and uneven under the saddle bridle strapped to her frame.

Sharp green eyes turned back towards the red head as she eased further into the pond. When she stepped to far away the mustang stallion followed, Blackbird dropped his head to suck a few mouthfuls of water down his throat before, lifting his muzzle and shaking his large, gold furred head.

"Why like this?" Dean muttered out loud.

"This is how I start all my foals. Best way to gentle a horse, Nez Perce have been doin' it for centuries. Difference is we're gentlin' ya today." Celia's tone was quiet, gentle and assuring. Dean felt somewhat like a raw colt being coaxed into the water.

"C'mon Ahote." Celia pressed again, gently tapping his given name.

Dean sucked in a deep breath before easing himself down to sit on the edge of the dock. His face twisted in mild pain as he slipped off his boots and socks. He tossed aside the flannel button down and slid into the icy water.

Dean grit his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath of air as water soaked through his jeans in and instant.

"Alright, c'mon." Celia coaxed. Dean narrowed his eyes, disgruntled at the baby talk. He dropped into the knee deep water, disappearing under the surface. Blackbird's head jerked up, ears cocked forward and snorted, searching the surface for the missing human.

Dean broke the surface again next to Celia, rising to his full height and scrubbing the water from his face and hair. The buckskin mustang snorted loudly but didn't spook, only rattled his halter and lead rope when he shook his head.

Water lapped at Dean's waist and lower back, cool air hitting his soaked shirt and skin.

"Better?" He grumbled.

"Deeper water." Celia waded backwards, Dean following, until the water was chest deep and there was more use to floating than standing. Blackbird followed closely, his long legs and deep chest sloshing the water around until the water was up to his shoulders. Dean's teeth chattered slightly as he slowly got used to cold of the water. He was still surprised how cold it was in the desert not only at night but during the day with the fall and winter coming in. The pond water bit bitterly at his skin.

"This is how you start every foal?" Dean asked, locking his jaw to stop the chatter.

"Every foal, rescue, and retrain." Celia agreed. "It builds trust and confidence in horse and rider. When Sammy and 'Wrecker are all done with their ground work he'll do the same if he listens to me."

Dean nodded, letting his head fall forward a little until the water was over his nose on his face.

"Easier to stay calm in the water." Celia continued quietly.

Dean nodded again, blowing a few bubbles just under the surface, letting them pop against his nose.

"Ya alright Dean?" Celia asked. "Any pain?"

The elder Winchester lifted his head.

"A little." He said quietly and flared her nostrils, rippling the water.

"It goin' to stop ya?"

Dean shook his head.

"Alright. Mount up." Celia motioned towards the waiting buckskin horse. Blackbird snorted and dipped his muzzle in the water, playing with the surface with his lips and blowing softly. Dean cast his eyes towards Celia for a few seconds before wading towards the horse and with a little difficultly hauled himself up onto the back. He shivered slightly in the cold air.

"Alright, first off, move up 'til yer crotch is on his shoulder." Celia instructed gently.

Dean shifted his seat forward and settled himself comfortably on the large shoulder. Celia waded over next to him.

"Ya need a good seat for a firm start." Celia tone continued to be quiet, calm and assuring.

"What is this suppose to do anyway?" Dean grumbled slightly.

"If yer so sure that ya've lost yer horse sense…which if ya want to be honest ya sort of did by losin' yer senses…"

Dean felt her eyes digging into him. Here it was, raw and violent and looking up at him with blood colored eyes.

"I wanted it back…" Dean said quietly, tangling his hand into the soaked, coarse hair of Blackbird's mane. "…it was the only way-"

"There are always other ways, Dean." Celia said without any kind of emotion in her tone.

"I went to you and you didn't help me." Dean growled out.

"'Cause I couldn't!" Celia shotgunned back sharply. "Dean, when I saw ya and Sammy sittin' on that highway I couldn't breathe. Ya can't understand the pure elation I felt. But when ya looked at me like I was dangerous and stranger I felt somethin' break in my heart. I cain't describe to ya how much it hurt, not bein' known by two of the most important people in my life. I couldn't imagine anythin' short of omnipotent to strip ya like that-"

"It's a curse. Leave Tuscarora territory-" Dean said bitterly and snapped his fingers. "-gone, all of it. A god's curse."

"Why?" Celia pleaded.

Dean sighed heavily. "He called me a breaker…"

Celia looked like she'd been slapped. It was an insult to be referred to as a breaker, horse breaker or other wise. Breakers were destructive, dangerous, they left nothing but devastation in their wake.

They destroyed lives and horses.

"A breaker?" Celia managed out after a second.

"Not in those words but yeah…a breaker…said he didn't want me here. At all."

Celia was quiet for a few long moments, her hands gently massaging the flesh of Blackbird's back and flank.

"I don't understand…" Celia admitted quietly. "…not the curse or what ya swore to break it."

Dean locked his eyes on Blackbird's mane, studying the thick black strands and finding narrow streaks of silver in the black.

"Dean-"

"I did what I had to do to get my memory and Sam's back and keep 'em, alright?"

"No not alright." Celia continued quietly. "Dean, how can ya promise the Chieftain a god damn solid? I mean, ya traded a half pint of blood to him?"

Dean's palm itched and he ached to massage the healing flesh.

"Ya know he can twist ya with that, as long as he's got that blood yer mercy to his word-"

"And once he calls it in, I'm done." Dean argued back.

"How the Hell do ya figure it could be that easy? As far as ya know he'll call ya down to kill me or Sammy? Or slit yer own throat-"

"Celia stop." Dean ordered quietly. "It's done. When it comes I'll have to deal with it."

"I wish ya hadn't. If ya had asked me I could have told yer past, happy to do it-"

"I didn't want second hand knowledge!" Dean barked suddenly. Blackbird jumped slightly, twitching and shifting nervously at the sharp tone and anger behind it. "I wanted my own memories and feelings. I wanted to remember Tuscarora and Wounded Heart on my own. I wanted to remember you on my own! Alright!?"

Celia's eyes cast down, she swallowed thickly.

She cleared her throat thickly and sighed. "Well, what yer goin' to do is start yer foundation again, since yer nervous and ya lost yer confidence and ya have to start down at the beginin'. Nez Perce found the easiest way to do this is to work a man with his yearling horse in the water. It protected the horse and rider from being severely hurt and it kept their blood cool. It builds a bond and also teaches both sides of the bond the right way to do things. Light, soft, quiet, gentle. The best kind of horse is one that reacts and acts on the smallest, lightest touches and commands. If ya have to haul yer horse around he isn't gentled the right way. The best kind of rider is one that knows when to be aggressive and when to be regressive. He has a light touch and only asks quietly for nothin' more than his horse is capable of. And if his horse is willin' he'll give more. And is tough and willin' enough to be a boss when his horse needs him to be in command. To protect him and vice versa. It's a balancin' act of equals. Not an animal and human. Ya understand?"

"Yes." Dean's mind still buzzed, having a little trouble catching up with the sudden change in subject and Celia's demeanor. He'd hit a nerve, clearly.

"Okay, so, a well trained horse listens to yer legs and weight shift, more than her hands and arms. Yer voice also is a huge tool." Celia's hand lighted on Dean's calf and stayed there. He actually felt her fingers tighten, gently massaging the muscle.

"And ya use yer knees more than yer heels and feet." She reached forward with her free hand and easily unsnapped the hook from Blackbird's lead rope to his halter. She lightly tossed the rope over the buckskin's neck and ducked under the water briefly to grab the end and lightly tied the lead in a loop around the stud's throat.

"Keep yer hands on the rope." Dean followed the instruction, wrapping his grip around the lead. "Don't let go. Yer not using yer hands."

She let go of his leg and swam back a few feet, giving Dean and Blackbird without her physical contact.

"Alright." Celia lifted her wet hands up to smooth her hair, hesitating to scratch her horns. "To get him movin' forward yer goin' to squeeze yer knees into his ribs and shoulder and click yer tongue."

Dean took a deep breath then squeezed his legs tightly around the buckskin's sides.

Blackbird gave a soft snort and started forward, lifting his slim black legs high to splash quietly along. Dean felt his balance tip slight, his stomach twist before he settled and Blackbird continued forward in a straight line.

"Good. A little more knee and less leg next time." Celia instructed. "To stop him, set yer weight back and say 'whoa'."

Dean rolled his weight backwards, naturally giving a little squeeze with his legs and quietly gave the stop command. Blackbird set his raised hoof onto the bottom of the pond and went still, waiting for the next command.

"How ya feelin' Dean."

"Kind of cold but alright." Dean admitted.

"Comfortable?"

He thought for a second. He was starting to feel a chill with the cool air pressing in on his wet clothes. His ribs and back ached with the slow healing he was going through. He felt the discomfort of the idea of a small vial of his blood tied into the Chieftain's hair. He felt unsure and unnerved being back on a horse, much less on a horse in the water. Confusion and discomfort, actual pain and strain on his body and mind blended together with enough anger to keep his jaw locked.

And through it all he had Celia's quiet, reassuring tone lightly wrapping around his heart and mind, soothing any stress and anger that could have gotten out of control. It was a balm on his otherwise thinly stretched emotions and strength. It put him at some eas but he'd been honest with Celia and she with him.

"Not really." He replied.

"We'll get there. Now let's do a left turn." Celia encouraged quietly.

* * *

**Read and Review all!**


	40. Gettin' Gone

**EVERYONE! I am so sorry about the wait but here it finally is1 The last chapter of Like Us! Thanks to everyone who stuck with the fic and even more thanks to my insanely awesome beta Sierra! This thing was quite the under taking and I'm sad and relieved to see it finally brought to an end. Hope you guys enjoy the last chapter!**

…

**Chapter Forty: Gettin' Gone**

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.**"**

**-Douglas Adams**

…

Dean shivered violently as the cold set deep into his muscles and joints, sinking lethally into the marrow of his bones. He felt like his joints and spine had locked up and his muscles on the edge of pure rigor. Where he wasn't completely numb there was dull pain.

But he was happy.

Sore and freezing his eyes flashed from the thick neck and mane of Blackbird to where Celia stayed with him, up to her waist in cold water sending out soothing and encouraging words that warmed up Dean's core when the rest of him was blocked in ice.

He shivered and practically clung to the buckskin stud for warmth, but even the horse was cold now. He could feel the stud shivering and twitching under his legs and hands.

He heard a splash of water and Blackbird stopped dead in the turn Dean has asked him for. A new flash of cold himt his left leg.

"He's had enough. So have ya." Celia ordered and wrapped a hand around his forearm.

Dean didn't hesitate to slide off the stud's back and crashed into the water, practically on top of Celia.

Blackbird snorted and quickly sloshed through the water onto the bank before he was enlisted into more work.

The elder Winchester shivered violently, wrapping an arm around Celia to keep himself above the water. His teeth chattered and his skin twitched violently and repeatedly. He numbly felt Celia wrap her own arms around his frame to support him as they started towards shore. In the darkness Dean only felt his heart thundering and saw the flicker of light over the disturbed surface of the Wounded Heart pond.

Dean and Celia awkwardly hauled their weight up onto the edge of the dock then over.

Dean peeled away from Celia and slumped onto his back on the dock.

He shivered once and pushed out a gasp of air that floated in a cloud of vapor above his lips. A violent tremor racked his frame, racing up and down his spine and freezing his blood like ice. He never knew it could get so cold in Nevada. And it was only September.

Dean sighed, content for the first in a long time while he stared up into the star littered night.

He felt a small but unnaturally strong hand wrap around his arm and gently pulled him up to sitting.

"Great job Dean." Celia whispered the praise, keeping her hand on his arm. Warmth starting to creep in under her hand. "Ya feel better?"

"Yeah..." Dean responded quietly.

"Nothin' better for a man's soul than a horse, Dean. And Blackbird's close to God as yer goin' to get without ridin' the Chieftain." Celia whispered encouragingly; she lifted a hand and brushed her fingertips along his temple. Dean instinctively leaned into the touch, he moved closer to her side.

The elder Winchester sighed, letting his breath cloud in front of his face. He liked the silence, the stillness and companionship that didn't have any weight, any expectations or commitments.

Dean's eyes pulled from the cold scenery and looked to the petite red head next to him. Dean held eye contact with her and found it easier than holding the gaze of anyone else in his life.

Eyes by training and instinct he should only have hate and disgust for, he watched the dim light catch and refract in the blood red pools. They carried so much, struggled with so much, it writhed and twisted like a thing in pain behind the thin glass of red. It churned and roared under the surface, it screamed for help and release and screamed about exhaustion and pain and a weakening strength. Dean could _see_ the demon, the monster just below those pools of blood, wailing for release from the petite red head he was using… riding… wearing...

Dean broke the distance and pressed his lips to hers in a light, chaste kiss before he could stop himself. His large, calloused hand lifted to brace along her jaw, carefully holding the red head in place as if afraid that a heavier hold would break her.

She seemed so small. All that power and pain and patience packed into a tiny frame.

Dean felt her put a little pressure back, felt her hand slide to his hip and clench in his soaked jeans and tee shirt. He felt the slightest tug. Small, barely there but screaming desperation.

Dean thought he might have gone to far. He'd been overjoyed when she didn't push him back, when she allowed him to touch her.

She wasn't allowing him anything, she was accepting it.

The elder Winchester tightened up, aggression seeped into his actions. His grip on her jaw tightened, his other arm slipped around her waist and pulled her into his frame. He nipped her lower lip.

He was a little shocked when she pulled back. She didn't push him away, didn't banish him. _She_ shrank away from _him_.

He felt a bar of cold lance across his heart.

"Wait-"

"I'm sorry." His spit out almost bitterly, casting his brilliant green eyes away. Dean shifted back, intending to give her the space she wanted. He jumped when her hands rushed to his throat and fisted in his shirt collar and yanked him back, desperation clear in every line of her movement. She drew him down, pressing their foreheads together and held him there. Dean felt a shiver race across her skeleton and couldn't help slipping his arms around her small frame.

"I said 'wait' not 'fuck off'." She rasped. "Just… just wait a second…"

So Dean settled himself down and waited patiently, he swallowed thickly and sniffed heavily. Waiting for her to make the next move. His heart rate rising with each stiff and freezing second.

"It ain't fair-"

"M'amin." Dean sighed and she jerked, shivering violently at the use of her name.

"Let me finish!" She bit out and shivered again, a shaky breath sliding through her lips. "It ain't fair that I let ya go any further without ya knownin'…"

Dean waited tensely before speaking again, it became unbearable and he forced words passed his raw throat.

"Know what, M'amin?"

She shook her head.

"Know what." Dean almost ordered.

"What I am…" She rasped out and licked her chapped lips and shivered harder. "Come on."

She pulled away then pulled him up after her. Dean followed on her heels like Hell was behind them with every step. Celia led Blackbird into the stable barn and into his stall. She heaped rugs and towels in his back and with Dean on the other side rubbed his fur dry and warmed his muscles. Then turned the buckskin into his stall.

She seemed to be moving so slowly, Dean wanted to shove her, drag her around, force her to move faster across the yard, through the darkened and still ranch home. He followed her, his tension sharpening in edge with each waterlogged and muffled footstep.

Celia led him down the short hall and into Nathaniel's study, the room packed with books and artifacts on shelves and weapons on racks. The plush couch and worn rug and hardwood desk still piled with stacks of dusty paperwork and logs and recounts of Hunts. The Hunter's study. Celia moved to the shelves of thick leather tomes and searched through them for a second before pulling down one of the largest books on the shelves. She cradled it in her arms.

Dean's eyes raced over the book and the thick layer of crinkled, yellowed paper between the covers. The tome had to be a hundred years old or more.

The words written across the cover were in Latin but Dean recognized and hardened at the familiar lettering and term.

It was a demonology.

He followed as Celia eased the book down on the surface of the dusty desk and cracked it open, turning each page gingerly and carefully between her hands, like they were sheets of brittle ice in a hot room. Dean watched over her shoulder as she moved through the pages of hand written Latin and delicate engravings that probably couldn't be found anywhere else in the world.

His eyes raced over demon after demon, he felt his teeth grinding together and the heat in his throat tightening.

"Here." Celia said as her hands finally came to rest on a page marked with a thin red ribbon. A massive engraving printed across the brittle page. Dean's eyes narrowed as he studied the image his jaw locked in that way it did when he was studying something for a Hunt. He set his hands firmly on the edge of the desk and bent over the demonology.

The image was startling, a massive wolf with over large teeth, fangs so long they crowded outside the lips and muzzle crinkled in a disgusting snarl. Massive red eyes seemed to glare up at him and dared the elder Winchester to try and touch the parchment. The animal's skull was split with two sets of horns, one set rams that curled out and around its ears, the other straight up and back like a pronghorn's rack. The massive wolf's hair bristled up, almost like spikes, thick legs ended in huge feline paws with claws that looked like meat hooks. The fur in the drawing was dotted with Native American symbols and around the monster's neck hung a thick collar made of horse, wolf and human skulls. The animal stalked across the page, balancing on piles of bones and freshly slaughtered bodies of humans and animals. The only color on the page was the addition of red into the eyes, dotting the fur and streaked across the road of dead and the demon's paws and teeth.

The discolored way that it had dried, the color looked like the addition of actual blood to the page.

Dean lifted his hand and traced his fingers over the blood inked eyes of the monster.

"That's it… _Tashuunka_… Dog… " It was all whispered bitterly out of Celia's lips. "This is what I am Dean."

The elder Winchester stayed silent, his eyes narrowing deeper.

"What I'll always be. Always whisperin' and growlin' and _pushin'_… and I'll always be hungry because of him. Wake up every mornin', achin' and wishin' and prayin' for somethin' different than that feelin' that I wake up with _every_ mornin' that I want to go out and drink someone's blood. I've got sulfur in my veins Dean… "

Her voice cracked on the last syllables. Dean heard her sniff and harden, clearing her throat roughly and sighing.

"It's what I am… I though ya should know… it's only fair…"

Dean let his eyes scan over the image again. Feeling the rough paper under his finger tips and letting his mind churn and rage, his heart beating too fast or too slow.

Dean drew in a long breath, setting his hand firmly on the thick tome and roughly shoved it off the desk to the floor. He didn't even flinch at the sound of the century old book hitting the floor with a crunch like breaking bones.

He twisted and with a single fluid motion snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her sharply into his frame and pressed a brief, blistering kiss to his lips. Celia seemed caught unawares, she didn't contribute and Dean pulled back to look down at her. Brilliant green eyes searching to catch hers but the red head refused to look him in the face.

"How can ya just cast this aside?"

"I don't care, Celia." Dean rumbled simply.

"How can ya be so sure? As far as ya know I've been stringin' ya along this whole time-"

"-All some elaborate trap to lure me and Sammy to doom? That you're just cornering us? Cornering me for an easier kill? That this is all a lie 'cause that's what demons do? They lie? And that's what you are? A demon? That you're that thing? _Tashuunka_? Dog?"

Celia stayed quiet, eyes cast down and flinched at every word that slipped through his lips. Like each word was a slap to the face.

"Yes…" She whispered.

Dean resisted the urge to force her to look at him. He didn't want to force her to do anything, he wanted her to just accept everything without pressure.

Dean watched her chew her bottom lip.

"M'amin… 'he' and 'you' are totally separate beings. Separate hearts. Separate minds. Separate souls…"

Celia scoffed quietly and flinched when Dean lifted a hand towards her face. She was a little startled when His hand bypassed her cheek and lifted to gingerly trace the texture and crinkles of her short horns growing from her hair line. He passed the pad of his thumb over the side of her horn, his touch dipping into a deep gash in the structure. One of the scars left over from her tangle with a puma and a canyon wall that cross hatched her throat and the left side of her face.

"Know what... I don't care if you believe me or not." Dean huffed, puffing warm air into her face and gave a soft shake of his head. Spattering water from his hair.

The elder Winchester hesitated for a moment before dropping his head, is forehead resting lightly against hers before her boldly bent further and nuzzled lightly at her temple, eye drifting shut as they stood still, breathing in each other's scent and breath.

a moment passed and Dean's frame was wracked with a violent shiver, his teeth clenching to keep from clacking. Celia easily heard the whine and grind of enamel and pulled back. For a moment Dean chased her warmth then shifted back again.

"C'mon." Celia urged gently. She bent and scooped up the demonology and set it on the desk, shutting it around the ribbon marker then nudged Dean along until he was walking slowly towards the door. They stepped out, into the silent hall, Celia closing the door behind them and ushered Dean slowly up the stairs, ducking briefly into her room and snagging lightweight sleeping clothes and fresh underwear for the both of them before stepping into the upstairs bathroom.

The space wasn't large enough for the both of them to move easily as they stripped out of their sodden clothes and kicked off their boots, leaving the soaked shirts and jeans draped half over the towel racks and half into the bowl of the tub. They mopped the remainder of the water off their skin and lightly massaged warmth back into muscles before tugging on the dry sleeping clothes.

Dean only hesitated a moment before following closely on Celia's heels into her room.

It was an odd feeling, being hesitant and unusually shy about helping himself to another's bed.

Celia unceremoniously shoved him into the mattress, the Hunter scrambling just to sprawl in place without looking ungainly or awkward. Celia climbed in before he was settled, burrowed under the comforter and sheets then curled up around her core. She seemed to pay no mind to Dean being there at all. She gave three large heaves of breath before it evened out and turned shallow and light, more natural and smooth. Dean slumped back into the mattress and stretched out slightly on his side, twisting and tilting his hips into a more comfortable position and then went still.

He tried to slow his breathing consciously, tried to match Celia's odd and irregular rhythm and failing miserably enough that his breath went short and he coughed.

"Yer goin' to have to get goin' again soon." Celia sad quietly, there was little emotion in the words and it made Dean go still.

"M'amin..." He rumbled.

"Dean ya cain't put roots down. Not yet." The red head interrupted. "Ya know ya cain't. Ye restless... for right now anyway. Someday maybe but not right now... ya know ya feel the wind comin' up again."

Dean sighed heavily and slumped down into the mattress, letting his head fall back and throat exposed to the air. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

"Yeah... I know..." He hummed quietly then stretched out and feathered a hand through her hair, threading the russet strands and the pads of his fingers over her temple, catching the flutter of a pulse in the veins running just under her skin.

Celia let him fidget for a time before speaking, twisting her head to nuzzle his palm a bit, breathing a warm puff of air washed over his inner wrist.

"Leavin' here... not coming back-"

Dean yelped softly when Celia gave his wrist a nip with wolfish teeth. He jerked back and turned his hand over, inspecting the small flush of red in his normally pale skin and grumbled softly before blowing instinctively on the irritate skin and glared down at her with narrowed green eyes.

Celia had settle back further, eyes drifted shut as in sleep. "Keep bein' stupid and I'll do worse. Dean, just because ya leave doesn't mean ya cain't come back."

Dean made a face at her, know she couldn't se it before he rolled over onto his stomach, pressing closer to her curled form, crossing his arms under his cheek and shut his eyes, letting his breath pass lightly across Celia's and getting the same pass of air in return, he drank in her scent and listened to her breathing deepen and even out.

Dean blinked slowly, feeling lethargy and exhaustion settle in slowly. His own breathing deepen and smooth out until it nearly matched hers.

"M'amin..."

She hummed lazily as she was drawn deeper down into sleep.

Dean debated for a long moment, forcing himself to stay alert for another few moments.

"M'amin... come with us..."

A soft noise escaped her throat, low and muffled as it rattled in her throat.

"Please?"

"Don't say please..." She muttered. "Ya and yer big green eyes..."

Dean sighed softly before digging his face deeper into the pillow and his forearms, He shut his eyes and breathed in the scent seeped deep into the bedding. He felt a small, painful tug low in his gut that pulled into a long thread and then twisted sharply be he pushed it back down. She hadn't denied him. Not really.

Not yet.

Dean wasn't sure when he fell asleep, he knew that he didn't dream, or that the very least didn't remember anything that he dreamed about, only externally aware of the warmth pressed in at his side until sometime early in the morning he jolted awake to the feel of an iron grip around one ankle and he was yanked violently off the mattress and crashed down onto the hardwood of the floor with a biting snarl of pain. he kicked his ankle free and scrambled around, trying to find a good position to put up a good defense as his mind rushed to catch up.

"Damnit Eli!" Celia barked and Dean slumped, relaxing and letting out a breath of pain.

"Winchester. i warned ya to stay outta my sister's bed." Elijah growled softly, humor in his tone and Dean felt the toe of a boot hook under his knee and lift his leg into the air. Dean snarled, baring his teeth and jerked his leg back, trying to kick out that the Marine and missing when the older man side stepped lightly and smirked down at him.

"Put some pants on boy..." Elijah turned on his heel and started out of the room. Celia snarled something in Lakota after him before she slipped out of bed and offered a hand up to Dean, pulling the larger framed Hunter to his feet, when she freed herself Dean gave a light teasing tug of her hair before slipping out the door, down the hall and stairs and into the guest bedroom, quickly tugging on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt over his chest before making his way into the kitchen. Sam was siting at the head of the table with a large bowl of cereal and a cup of thick, black coffee. Dean offered him a light smile.

"Mornin' Sammy." He hummed and snagged a coffee mug and filled it with liquid, the steam rolling up and flushing against his nose and face. He drew in a deep breath and took a sip. "Hows the 'Wrecker' doing?"

Sam tilted up an eyebrow at his elder brother. Dean hadn't really asked much about the painted mare. Mostly just went out of his way to look in on Sam when he worked with her, observed for a bit before backing off. Sam wasn't sure if there was a jealousy or feeling of abandonment strung between Dean and the little mustang that was commanding all of Sam's attention and a good chunk of Celia's but something must have given way because there was nothing underlying Dean's interested tone.

"Celia thinks I might be able to get a leg over in the next couple of days, if not today."

Dean nodded and paused for a minute. "We should go for a ride today. All of us, you know?"

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Dean blinked then glared back. "What?"

"What's the matter Dean?" Sam nearly commanded the question.

The elder scoffed and smirked, but years of exposure didn't throw the younger sibling off in anyway. Dean fidgeted for a fraction of a second before regaining himself and lifted his chin slightly.

"Look Sam, a new job can crop up anytime."

Sam looked mildly shocked at the statement before he sobered. "Yeah I guess."

Dean snorted, "They're not going to wait for us, Sammy."

"Yeah... yeah... I guess I'll start looking around." Sam muttered, sounding oddly like a child that was being told he had to go back to school at the end of the summer. Dean huffed out of the corner of his mouth and turned his attention back to his mug of coffee.

"Something close." Dean muttered and Sam let his lips twitch slightly before they looked up as Celia trotted down the stairs fully dressed and bundling her hair into a loose pony tail at the base of her skull.

"Mornin' Sam." She hummed affectionately at him and the younger Winchester grinned openly.

"Morning. Hey, Celia?"

"Yessir?" She asked as she shoved Dean bodily out of the way and poured herself a cup of coffee and drained half of it in a single pull before topping it off again.

"We were thinking about going on a ride. There time today?"

Celia cast a knowing look towards Dean who refused to meet her eyes before she side stepped and leaned out the door, whistling shrilly. It echoed in the yard and a few voices of waking horses whinnied back at the familiar noise.

A muffled shout came from the yard.

"Eli can ya handle all the chores for me? Thanks!" The red head shouted into the yard.

The returned noise was sharp and unhappy and Celia snorted with a slight smile.

Dean chuckled softly and Sam grinned before it faltered slightly. "Guess I'm not riding Homewrecker."

Celia snorted. "Oh, yer gettin' on that horse. Right now in fact. Get out there."

Sam blinked looking slightly startled before rushing through the rest of his cereal, dumping everything in the sink and dashing out the door, tugging on his corduroy jacket.

Dean smirked then glanced at Celia as she pulled out a small bowl from a shelf filled with leftover biscuits and passed him one before biting into her own and went about the rest of the kitchen, pulling thing like jars of trail mix and dried fruits and meats down then rooted into the mud room before coming up with a canvas over the shoulder bag and started stocking it with the jars and bottle of water from next to the dryer and washer.

Once the pack was full Celia slipped it over her shoulder, wrote a quick, assuring note to Rosa where they were going then urged Dean to follow.

The elder Winchester stalled, pausing in his coffee and biscuit. "Right now? It's still dark out."

"Just c'mon." Celia snorted and held the door ope while Dean tugged on his boots and a hooded sweatshirt. He swallowed down the last of his coffee and ducked out th door with Celia o his heels. The ambled passed the paddock where Honeycatcher was resting his shredded hoof and grazing quietly alone. The cremello nickered at them but realized enough not to both hobbling over to meet them at the fence as the visit would be brief and not worth the pain of the movement.

Dean followed Celia out into the stable barn where Sam had led the scarred and painted mustang, Homewrecker, and was currently saddling her while he murmured soft encouragement and affections into her pricked ears.

"Chambeau alright today Dean?" Celia asked as they walked into the tack room and tugged other favored trail all around saddles and bridle tack.

The older Hunter nodded. He and the tri-colored mare got along well, she was more tolerant and less likely to act without thinking on her own. Plus there was the added bonus that the mare would be an assuring and soothing presence around the still untested Homewrecker.

"G'wan and get her then. Ya know what to do." Celia urged while she turned and followed along the stalls, side stepping around Eli then ignoring the Marine when he turned on his heel and followed her ranting heatedly about being left to do all the chores while he was at liberty but there seemed like there was no real venom in his tone and he stood back while she set her tack down then opened a stall and led out a large, black blanket Appaloosa gelding with four tall white socks named DuShane.

Dean moved down to where Chambeau was lazing in her stall, the mare blinked and nickered softly at him and allowed the elder Winchester to easily catch her halter and tug her out of the deep bedding. He linked a lead rope to the chin ring and tied her loosely to the stall door before taking a brush to her red brown fur. Dean lazily went about grooming the mare, he paused to trace the painted mare's white markings with his fingers.

Once her hooves were cleaned out and her coat shining Dean saddled the mare, cinching up the girth and buckling the breast collar across her chest and bridle over her halter and around her ears, slipping the bit gently between her teeth and over her tongue. Dean checked over his work before untying and looping the lead rope over the horn of the saddle, slid his boot into the stirrup and lightly vaulted up into the saddle, secured his other boot and lightly turned the mare with the lightest touch and pressure of his leg and knee, turning the mare and trotting her along the line of stalls and out into the yard where Sam was gently turning Homewrecker in small circles, soothing the last of any nerves that she had not yet lost. Dean kept Chambeau back and well out of the way,, he could tell the tension between Sam's shoulders was sharp and he didn't need any kind of external pressure.

They stood, listening and breathing in the quiet of the predawn light.

After a few minutes Celia trotted out of the barn on DuShane. The black Appaloosa was a horse that was easygoing and light footed. He moved smoothly and so quick to turn it was no wonder that he was a trained barrel race horse. Celia trotted DuShane right up to where Sam and Homwrecker were stopping only a few feet away and took the pair's attention completely.

"Alright Sam, put yer foot in the stirrup and do a side mount. Basically stand up in the stirrup and lean over her back then drop back to the earth. Quite and calm."

Sam nodded and stopped the mare, urging her to stand still before he set his boot into the stirrup, before pushing down and pulling himself up and leaned his weight into the small horse. She started but didn't spook to terribly and more seemed confused and unsure of what Sam was doing until he eased down to the earth again.

"No on the other side." Celia urged and Sam stepped around and repeated the process. This time Homewrecker seemed ready and braced for his weight, still watching him in confusion until he reached the ground again.

"Alright, looks good so far. Now go back around and do it again but this time sit in the saddle and once you're there just sit there and relax a little. Don't go anywhere. If she tries to take off on ya just hold yer seat and let her run for a bit, don;t try and stop her because she doesn't know what stoppin' means yet."

Sam nodded before very carefully and slowly mounting the mare and sitting firmly in the saddle. Homewrecker stood rigid and stiff under his weight, twisting around in confusion and looking at him. When Sam didn't get back down she looked towards the other two horses, seeing them in a similar predicament but in no form of distress. She moved a few steps forwards, twisted to look at Sam again before turning, trying to get around him and finding that the younger Winchester stayed firmly and relaxed on her back.

"Sam, when she makes turns and moves around cue her to do it. Give her a little pressure." Celia urged and Sam nodded, the next time that Homewrecker moved he put a little pressure into her side and a light pull of the reins. The mare seemed surprised and went still so Sam released the pressure. Homewrecker stood blinking for a few long minutes then moved again. This time when Sam put pressure on her side and mouth she moved into it and the pressure released instantly.

"She's startin' to get it. She's a smart little thin'. Feelin' safe with her, Sammy?"

"Yeah." The younger Winchester agreed with a tilt of his lips. "I trust her."

"We better get goin' then." Celia turned DuShane around and urged him on to a light trot, Dean started to hesitated but instead move Chambeau around and urged her after the black Appaloosa. Homewrecker looked slightly afraid to be left and Sam gave her a slight pressure against her barrel. She lurched forwards, Sam keeping steady in the saddle as she rushed to keep up and hugged Chambeau's hip like her life depended on it. It didn't seem to irritate or agitate the tricolored mare so Dean did nothing of it and led the way passed Celia and an open gate. Once they were through Celia and DuShane moved lightly around, pushing the gate along until it was back in place and swung the chain over, locking it.

Dean relaxed some, they were in open land now, out side of fences and pastures. Even with the rolling open land that the Greers owned it was still fenced. Barely tamed but tamed. Even the small change between that side of the fence and this side was significant enough that dean could feel a lightening in his gut and an easing in his bones.

He breathed deeply and relaxed in the saddle, smoothing his hands over the Chambeau's mane and waiting for DuShane and Celia to take a slight lead before falling in line and Homewrecker hugged the tricolored paint's flank. Nosing at her hip and kicking nervously from time to time but stayed relatively steady and calm under Sam's weight considering it was the first time that she had been ridden by a human being.

The easy walk kicked up into a trot then a smooth lope. Homewrecker panicking slightly under the change of pace but calmed with Sam's encouragement and the steadiness of the other two horses.

DuShane and Chambeau came even and loped on smoothly, matching each others paces easily. Homewrecker settled and eased up until she was comfortably loping along at Chambeau's flank.

Dean felt something loosening in his chest as distance was eaten up under the horses' hooves.

Slowly in the distance the dawn started to creep up on the horizon, turning the greying sky a pale then clearer blue. The scrub lands thinned out and the heat that had gone missing in the night was climbing back up into the daylight hours. The ground turned hard packed as they followed some unmared root towards the Owyhee mountains to the west. The earth turned into hard rock and red sand stone. Dust kicked up behind them as they wove in and out among the low scrub brush and startled desert birds and small animals.

Sweat started to collect on the horses necks and between their shoulder blades, Dean's heavier clothing sticking uncomfortably to his frame but the elder Hunter didn't dare slow up to remove it for fear of being left behind or startling Homwrecker to much to recover. They loped on and the horizon twisted and rose in oddly shaped formations, the misshapen forms of the mountain range defined and laid large streaked shadows across the desert. Celia and DuShane steered around, swaying sideways until they were following a thin dark ribbon of a river. It looked like the other end of Blackwater River and the Canyon, after the river rose back up from under ground.

They checked their pace, slowing down to a smooth walk to catch their breath and waded into the river water. Dean quickly stripped out of his hooded sweatshirt and down to his slightly soaked tee shirt.

Sam was shrugging out of his own corduroy jacket and a flannel shirt, draping them loosely over the back of his saddle. Celia was lightening her own load of clothes and resettling the bag full of food back across her chest before urging them into deeper water, letting it lap against their heels, cooling them and the horses. Dean boldly bent and leaned far over the side of Chambeau's shoulder and dipped a hand into the water, cupping it and drawing it up to suck water out of his palm and rub it into his throat and hair, cooling himself and scrubbing away the sweat clinging to his skin and letting some roll down it spine and cool his back. Sam was doing the same, his longer hair slicking back smoothly.

Cooled and relaxed some they waded idly through the waters, sinking lower and lower as the earth rose around them where the river had carved it out a canyon. The peaks rose higher into the sky around them and as the sun cast across them. The red sand stone turned shades of gold and pink, yellow and tawny.

Celia pulled DuShane up and Chambeau eased forwards and stood aligned with the black Appaloosa, he swung his nose around and sniffed at the mare before they dropped their muzzles into the water and sucked at the smoothly and gently moving water. They drank and sighed across the surface of the river and relaxed some. Sam and Homewrecker drew up next to them and nosed in to drink in the same space as the other two horses. Nickering softly and twitching under Sam's weight. Celia dug into the pack and pulled out sealed bottles of water and passed them around. The brothers rushed through the first few mouthfuls of water before calming and drinking more slowly and smoothly.

They stood in companionable silence, watching from their place in the gut of the canyon and protected by the higher peaks as the sun light spilled over the rim and pooled into the river water around them.

They breathed quietly in unison and took drinks of water and soothed by each other's company. After ten minutes of standing Celia glanced at her watch. They'd been riding for a little over two hours and it would take that long to get back if not longer as the climb up out of the river canyon was always harder than the drop in.

"Want to go back?" She asked.

Neither brother spoke for a long moment and Celia smiled slightly before turning DuShane and leading deeper into the canyon.

They rode on slowly, not speaking and snacking on the trail mixes, dried fruits and meats and chunks of honeycomb, They worked their way back out of the canyon and wove loosely among the peaks of the mountains. Climbing a bit up their bases before dipping back into the vallies and only looped around back towards Wounded Heart when it was down to the last two bottles of water.

Splitting it between the three of them the water lasted until less than a mile from the fence line of the far western pasture. It was only when Celia dropped down off of DuShane, the brothers following her example as they came up to a gate and slipped through, that Dean realized he'd spent the day in silence.

They led the horses into the stable barn just as the sun started to slip away. Stripping saddles and forgoing just rubs downs for full out showers, washing the caked dirt and mud from the horses, smoothing and drying their fur with towels and blankets. Combing out manes and tails, soothing muscles and rewarding the horses with large helpings or sweet feed grain.

It was well after dark when Celia and the Brothers now pleasantly sore climbed across the wraparound porch and ducked into the kitchen.

Rosa looked and smiled gently at them from where she was cooking at the stove top. The trio slumped down at the table and let out a collective sigh.

"Ya'll are right on time." Rosa said quietly. "Just finishin' up a stew for us all. Ya have a good ride."

"Yes ma'am." Celia responded for the three of them and she leaned back, opened the door of the refrigerator still in her chair and pulled out a large glass pitcher of orange juice and set it on the table as she nudged the door back closed. Rosa took the cue and set three glasses down and let the trio pour their own glasses and sipped quietly at the juice, flushing lost sugars back into their systems.

Within an hour Rosa dished up the stew and called in Elijah and Imogene. Dinner was relatively quiet, most of the conversation made up of Imogene chattering about school and Elijah complaining good naturedly about having been left to take care of the ranch himself. The silence that Sam, Dean and Celia had lapsed into remained. And more than once Imogene, Elijah and Rosa looked towards the two brothers with a kind of suspicion or a kind of anticipation. As if they knew what was going on just below the comfortable silence.

Dean bullied the rest of the group into letting him wash the dishes by hand. Sam retired with the rest of the family, laptop in hand to watch a movie.

Dean drowned out the rest of the house with the sound of rushing water, foaming detergent and clinking ceramic. The sink was filled to the brim with warm water and used dishes from the entire day, not just dinner.

On the floor at his heels Valentine and Buckshot lounged on the terra cotta tile, their ears flicked and tilted towards Dean.

Dean scrubbed them clean diligently and even paused to dry them with a tea towel before setting them aside in a rack to finish drying out completely.

He jumped slightly when a hand lighted on his shoulder. He turned and looked down into the slight smile of Rosa. He gave her a lopsided grin in return.

"Ya boys are gettin' ready to lit out ain't cha?"

Dean instantly dropped his eyes away. "Rosa-"

"Hush." She gently pushed his shoulder and stopped him. "Ya got more than a right too. Ya got a callin' that doesn't stop hollarin' for ya just because ya happened to like the place ya stayed at last."

Dean digested her words before nodding slightly ad Rosa cupped his chin, tilting his head unti she pressed a light, soothing kiss above his right eye.

Dean blinked quietly as the ranch mother.

"I'll always expect ya to come back, alright?"

"Yes ma'am." Dean agreed. "Planning on it."

As he said the words the elder Winchester made a pact with himself to ensure that they weren't the same empty promises he made along the road to that point.

"Alright..." Rosa hesitated before tilting his head again and pressing another kiss to the same place she had before. "That's for the road, just in case I don't see ya in the mornin'."

Dean smiled slightly at her and nodded. Only straightening up when the woman stepped away and slipped out of sight into the den with the rest of the group.

Dean sighed to himself and turned back to the sink full of dishes, scrubbing his way through to the last glass before draining the water and drying his hands. The elder Winchester stood in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment before digging into the refrigerator for a bottle of beer, cracking the lager open as he stepped out into the cooled night air and settled himself onto one of the cushioned and raw wood porch chairs. The dogs follows, laying out on their sides on the wood decking around his feet. He wasn't there very long before Celia and Elijah joined him and shortly on their heels his younger brother. The laptop well away and out of sight so Dean knew that Sam had found something to go after.

They sat in the near dark, listening to the sounds of horses nickering to each other and cattle lowing over insects and far off in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf warbled up and hung before dying again.

The silence lingered and didn't break until Imogene bounded out on the porch in her pajamas and flung herself on Sam. She hugged him tightly and clung far to long to mistake that the embrace was the casual ones that were before bed time stories.

it seemed the Greers knew more than the Winchesters themselves did.

Imogene mumbled something into Sam's neck and the younger Winchester whispered into her ear quietly, making the child giggle. Imogene gave light hugs and planted generous kisses on Celia and Elijah's cheeks before she fell onto Dean, clinging to him as tightly, if not tighter than she had Sam.

Dean hugged her back. Careful not to squeeze her torso to tightly.

"I love ya Dean... come back please." She hummed into his shoulder and Dean stroked her hair and dipped to press a kiss into her hair.

"Promise. Good night imogene." he mumbled into her hair.

"Night." She sighed back and pushed herself up and allowed Elijah to steer her back into the kitchen and leave the trio alone on the porch. The Marine paused and sent a look towards each of the brothers, telling them clearly and without words to keep close to each other and stay alive. Sam and Dean both nodded slightly towards the older man as he stepped away into the yellow light from the kitchen.

Silence rung among them, heavier than it had been before, for several long minutes. Elijah didn't return.

"There's a chupacabra in south California." Sam said at last, quietly sealing some unsaid and unwritten expectation. "At least that's what its looking like. Live stock mutilations and a few kids have gone missing."

Celia and Dean snapped their attention towards the younger brother.

"Kids?" Dean asked.

Sam hesitated before he pushed himself up, picking up his empty. "I'll get my stuff."

The younger brother ducked into the kitchen and the sounds of his steps faded as he moved deeper into the house.

"Nothin' like kids to get a Hunter movin' faster." Celia said quietly as she stood. "C'mon."

Dean turned the thought over in his head a few times before getting up and following her up the stairs. The house was quiet. Elijah, Rosa and Imogene had darkened the house and turned in, ready to rise early the next morning.

It was a long practiced skill that made gathering and packing all their gear into duffle bags, stealing back freshly washed clothes from the dryer in the mud room, lifting up mattresses and pillows to locate stray knives and firearms and a number of other small trinkets collected in their time at Wounded Heart.

The two brothers stepped quietly through the kitchen, dropping to their knees briefly to fawn a final time over the two German Shepherds Buckshot and Valentine and even stroke back the greying ears of the Collie Alamo.

Celia stood back and only moved in to follow them out the door, standing back as they stored their duffles into the trunk of the Impala and Sam turned without a word and jogged towards the stable barn and making a bee line for the painted mustang Homewrecker. Dean hesitated before falling into step with Celia and crossed the yard, ducking into the side paddock, swinging the gate closed behind them and making their way to a pale shape of a horse laying down in the grass not far off, standing next to it was the buckskin boss horse Blackbird..

Honeycatcher tilted his head up and nickered, The other stud tilting his ears forwards and snorting softly. Dean lightly passed his hand over Blackbird's nostrils and down his neck before turning his attention to the healing cremello stud.

Honeycatcher shifted as if to get closer and lifted his head until the bridge of his nose was pressed into Dean's temple. The Hunter breathed in the horse's scent and petted his jaw gently.

"When I come back you better be ready for me, big guy." Dean hummed quietly. "I'll run you into the ground."

The stud nickered and nudged at Dean's head, lipping his hair and nickering softly when Dean stepped back and looked sideways at Celia. They paused for a minute.

"You coming?" Dean asked.

"No." Celia responded,

Dean nodded and shrugged a shoulder before stepping over and bending slightly to press a kiss into her temple. He let his lips linger, felling that pulse against his breath before he pulled away.

"Come back Dean." Celia urged with a small smile before stepped back to stand next to Blackbird.

Dean hesitated, taking final glance at her and the two studs before turning and jogging slowly towards the gate, he ducked through and swung it closed behind him, slinging the chain around and trotting across to the Impala. Sam was standing by the passenger door and waited to climb in to the muscle car in sync with his brother.

The Winchesters sat for a moment, before the silence shattered as Dean cranked the Impala's engine to life, swung her around and pulled out of the Wounded Heart drive, tires grinding in the dirt and gravel.

Dean glanced in the rearview once and smirked slightly at the sight of Celia's calmly lifted hand in a still wave.

...

**A/N: My goodness its over. Thanks everyone for sticking with this story! Thanks especially to Sierra! LOVE YOU! Hope everyone enjoyed Like Us! It's the end of an era, it is!**

**Mary T.**


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